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Chapter One

Chlorine

In a distant year between clear blue skies and the rounded edges of sanitized marble streets, in a tower of mirrored glass surrounded by exotic palms that glow green in the night- there in that building a man stood looking out at an artificial ocean. Through unkempt strands of bark colored hair his melancholic gaze bounced along with the fresh water dolphins jumping rhythmically in and out of the desalinized sea. He pushed hair away from his eyes, the dried sweat kept it temporarily lifted and in that moment after he resembled an unwashed Elvis. Lance wasn’t dressed to the nines, he didn’t have a leather jacket. He wasn’t wearing much of anything. Truth be told he resembled Elvis in his final moments, out of shape and clad with only a pair of sweat pants. Such was the norm in Utopia.

Lance had often lamented how wonderful life on Earth had become. He was just old enough to have the faintest understanding of what it was like before. Most of those wooden houses had been ripped up out of the earth and replaced with places like this, towers of efficiency and content. Places filled with satisfaction machines and decent yet forgettable meals. Often he’d find himself in the commons room, the places in the complex intended for people to gather and talk but were always found empty and quiet. All the world is silence, we get loud behind our walls but we never go anywhere. He thought. People pair off and fuck in their cages and yell into microphones about the stupidest shit and no mater how I look at it I cant find a reason to care.

In the complex there were big rooms filled with exercise equipment. There were big rooms meant for all sorts of specific things and between them were hallways filled with doors and behind those doors you’d find all kinds of people getting up to all sorts of things. For example; Daren who was strapped into his headset when Lance walked past his door. Daren who’s head was incased in a helmet that held a screen two inches from his face had at that time just begun to lick his lips. High Definition flashes of flesh and carnal frames of frenzied fornication reflected in his ever rapacious eyes. A distressing sound could be heard as a soft echo in the hallway.

There was a sign above two larger doors that read; PUBLIC BATH. Lance stopped to smell himself after he took notice of those big red letters decided it was best to wander in there. It seemed just as empty as anywhere else save for the sound of one of the shower heads. Tiled floors surrounded a big square pool of warm water. Blue on white checkerboard patterns on the walls- a big circular overhead light was set in the dome shaped roof. The man in the shower hummed and steam slowly waltzed about the place. Lance would lay buoyant in the water for the next hour. Looking up a the florescent light above him as he floated, squinting his eyes to make that mundane lamp look like a brilliant blob of god he’d drift from one edge to the other without care or consequence.

“Lonely. Mr.Lonely.” A charming low pitched voice sang. Lance’s fat gut rotated in the water and he stood up to see who’d come to join him. He was greeted by a bright smile surrounded by cheeks the color of coffee, Daren looking like a man made of moist clay appeared to not have bathed in weeks.
“Hey man.” Lance said while softly kicking against the side of the pool.
“Oh boy! Let me tell you! The new content for Super Maid Fucker is premium. I don’t think I’ll be able to bust nuts for a week!” Deren’s enthusiasm shined through the fog in Lance’s mind, even on days like this one his words always pushed pass the whatever was keeping him down at the time. Somehow I feel like there’s something im missing whenever this guy laughs.
“I’m happy for you.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“Hey Daren, what were things like before. Like-” a pause “ what was this place like 40 years ago?”
Daren took the towel he’d had draped over his shoulder and dropped it to the side. “Well this place- this building has always been here. As long as I can remember but it didn’t always look like this.” As he lowered himself into the hot water Lance recoiled at the smell and politely drifted to the opposite end and rested his elbows against the white tiles on the edge. “Most everything else has been turned up and built over. There was a time when houses were made out of wood yeah know and sometimes the paint would chip away from those houses and sometimes the roads had cracks in them but people have always been like this.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t see much of them.”
“That’s because you’re playing a different game than the rest of us. See I remember before the porn got this good- that there was no chance in hell of getting a date unless you used the right app. I had a chick tell she didn’t trust me because I didn’t have an account once. Actually more than once. It was assumed that you were a criminal if you weren’t online.. Which I was admittedly.”
“What kind of criminal?”
“Nothing that bad. Lets leave it at that.”
“Do you think its better this way?”
“Sort of yeah.” Daren splashed water into his eyes and wiped his mouth. “We all got sick of each other. It’s about as simple as that.”
“Well I didn’t.”
“Mr.Lonely over here. Ay! Look its Mr.Lonely! He aint got nobody! Ay!”
“Ok. Ok. Tell me about this super maid you fucked.”

Blood mixed with water as the shower head sprayed into an open wound. Lance and Daren would speak amongst the hissing and the few drops of red that vaporized into the steam. A ghost was born in one of the private stalls. People slip, people fall and when they die no one will notice at all. They both dried off and the lights went out.

Chapter Two

Reverse Vampire Complex

Guitars screamed behind the walls. Low vibrations could be felt pulsing through the stone medium of the street. “They’re these little seeds. You push them down into your lungs with your finger.”
“I don’t think I have the guts to do that. I mean I’m probably just going to make myself throw up.”
“Well for first timers we have this.” Casey presented a hook shaped inhaler from his inner jacket pocket. “It’s got this cherry flavored lubricant on it that numbs your throat.”
“I don’t know man. It still seems like a lot of effort.” People began to cheer from inside the venue as a few youths filed out the door into the parking lot. One of them, an older looking man dressed in loose fitting black clothing with a big black beard leaned against the wall next to Casey. Casey turned to him and said “Tell em’ he’s being a big fucking pussy.”
“You’re being a big fucking pussy.”
“Shut up.”
“Look. It’s legit less harmful than caffeine.” Casey flashed a screen at Rheic. The display showed a bunch of botanical information, irrelevant things. Rheic scrolled down and checked and then double checked the known properties and research that had been done on the subject as the older looking man lit a cigarette.
“I too like to know about the drugs I’m taking Casey. It’s never stopped me from doing them but its good to know what you’re taking. He’s not that much of a pussy dude. Don’t be so pushy.”
“I just want someone else to know about this stuff. Its fucking amazing.” Rheic scrolled down some more, non-habit forming, carbon symbiotic, residual apathy, radial genomics.
“Why does it matter to you so much? It’s not a good look Casey.” Said the bearded man as he scratched his cheek.
“Ok. Dude. I’ll do it.”
“Really! Dude sick! Say aw.” The tube slid down Rheic’s throat without much effort. He looked over at the bearded man like you’d look over at a dentist while your mouths proper open. The older man looked away and shook his head slightly as he flicked his cigarette. “Ok! Now I’ll pop mine. Lets go hang out in the field over there while we experience the bliss.” Casey took out a seed and pushed it into his throat. He hacked and coughed lightly and then grabbed Rheic’s arm. They ran into the field and Casey rolled onto the ground so that he’d be on his back looking up at the sky. Rheic lowered himself to the ground and sat upright looking out at the ocean and the sky line of the city beyond the palm trees.
“Now what?”
“Let us just be Rhei.”

“I thinking you’re asking way to much of me.” Daren said with visible contempt.
“No. I don’t think I am. Who pays for porn anyway? Don’t you have enough of it for like several life times?”
“Sir, What you’ve just said shows that you know nothing about the subject.”
“You’re the leading expert of that field of research. I know that.” Lance sipped at his cup of tea. “but I mean. Look at your room.” Lance made a gesture toward the general area, towards the high end sex dolls and stacks of comic books.
“The fuck about my room?”
“You don’t need to buy new toys every week.”
“Do you dare to say that these priceless pieces of art of toy? Are you really that uncultured?” Daren spit on the ground in disgust.
“Are you going to clean that up?”
“Leave! Leave I say! I will not tolerate such bullshit!” In response Lance loudly sipped his tea. “You’re the one that wants to go to Mars. I’m perfectly content fucking my seven wives.”
“Bring them with you.”
“Oh my god. Why fix what’s not broken.”

The mirrored windows of the complex began to reflect a red and yellow sunset. Casey had taken off his boots and began to throw them in the air, giggling all the while. Rhei watched in wonder as the clouds scrapped against the open air and dissolved beside the sun. The palm trees began to pulse a soft neon green in front of the stars that arrive early. He felt the turning of the earth under him and somehow the air smelled better, it smelled like it always had but now seemed to be the first time he’d noticed it. It’s a bit like being drunk. Kind of like being in love. One of the boots fell fairly close to Rhei, barely missing his head. Casey laughed and apologized.
“Hey Casey. What do you want to do next? Are we just going to stay here for the night?”
“It’ll ware off sooner or later. Probably sooner than later unfortunately.” Casey picked up his boot and threw it upward as hard as he could.

The problem was not that there was nothing to do on Earth but that there was no money to be made there, at least not for people like them. Monthly allotments came in like clockwork. Enough to eat. Enough for porn but not enough to eat something someone else cooked, or to pay the fee to see a scene that wasn’t so bland. No one buys books these days, those who write do it for free and there’s so much of it it’d be hard to get noticed. Lance had been writing for years and for the longest time the only friends he’d had were anonymous writers similar to himself. There was respect and passion, a lot of good stuff was being penned. Sipped his seventh cup of tea as he looked out the mirrored windows at the moon. It hanged in the sky, singular yet lovely. Would I love this moon as much if there were more of them. Maybe I’m self obsessed by the same token, I want something unique so I can’t allow myself to just enjoy the carnal pleasures. Is that why I’m lonely, I’ve seen the love birds file through the halls - hand in hand - arm in arm. Maybe if I met someone who never shut up but also had something worth saying - would that be enough to keep me here?

Daren appeared in the reflection behind the star lit sky. Lanced turned to greet him as the door clicked shut. “I’m sorry for yelling at you like that.” said Daren, his voice baritone and hoarse.
“It’s ok man. You’re right. You know. I shouldn’t have kept at it like that.”
“Right.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“Cool.”

Wave’s crashed around their ankles. “THE FUCKING MOON!” Casey yelled. “HEY FUCK YOU MOON!” Rheic stood not to far away also looking out at the artificial ocean. I’m glad I did this. He thought. “OW! FUCKING THING!” Casey started cursing and limping back to shore in a spazmatic fashion.
“You ok?”
“Stupid crab thing got my toe! Ah! Ok good. I still have it?”
“Your toe?”
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah.” He bobbed his head up and down feverishly. “yeah yeah!”
They found themselves inside a convenience store dipping French fries into cheese around 3am. The droid across the counter greeted them with the classic yellow smiley face displayed over its fishbowl shaped head. The droid tipped its red hat and poured their drinks. The audio spotlights would play custom play lists of tracks the customers had put onto their accounts. Casey heard some classic experimental rock albums as he chewed while Rheic heard the first four chords of a something new before he opted to turn it off. The walls of the place were painted a strange lime green, chips and candy bars. Stupid cartoon mascots showing their teeth on the side of every bag of sugar coated sponges.

The bells chimed as the electric doors slid open. The droid behind the counter welcomed someone with its cheery focus group tested salutation. A large had reached over Casey’s should and grabbed a fry. “Having fun boys?” said the man with the big black beard as he dipped the into the cup of cheese between them.
“It’s been a night to remember.” Casey hummed. An infectious smile spread across his face.
“And how about you? Did this guy ruin your life?”
“Absolutely.” Rheic said in the same stoic tone he used on a daily basis, sober or otherwise. “But that was years ago. Tonight’s been pretty nice. It’s pretty mellow.”
“Good. Good.” The bearded man grabbed a chair and pulled himself close to the table. “Can I ask you guys something?”
“Shoot.” Casey said making finger gun gesture with one hand while pilling hand fulls of fries into his mouth with the other.
“Why isn’t anybody here?”
“It’s 3am.” Said Casey.
“But we live in a city. A big city.”
“So.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” The bearded man slapped Casey’s cheek.
“Ow! What the fuck bitch!”
“This is the second largest city in the world.”
“Is that concerning?” Rheic seemed receptive to what black beard was saying if not a bit out of touch.
“Kinda. You’ve seen how it used to look in movies. Not just movies but in recordings here and there. This isn’t normal and has never been normal for most of history.”
“Times change.” Casey’s response was met with another smack. That time it seemed to get to him. Rheic observed as the gears in Casey’s head turned. As he did the math and realized that black beard was too big to smack back.
“Yeah. They do but what’s freaky about it is that its never mentioned. I don’t see articles about this and I never heard anyone talk about it. Even the older guys. You’d think grandma’s and grandpas would have said ‘back in my day.’ right? What to you think about it?” black beard pointed at Rheic.
“I mean you do hear about it in someway. The apathy epidemic and the suicide rates. That gets a lot of play in the news.”
“Why should they be? Here look.” black beard grabbed a bag of sugar sponges off the display and opened them. “Do I have to pay for these?”
“It’s automatically deducted from your account.”
“But my account is empty.”
“Then it adds it to your debt and will be deducted later.”
“Doesn’t it fuck with you’re head that nobody is causing problems. That there’s no crime.”
“We just did a crime. So did you.” Said Casey before instinctively flinching. Black Beard didn’t smack him this time.
“Yeah. That’s true. I’m of two minds about it. Either they get you on drugs- bad drugs like those.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it Rhei. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“- or they find some other way to get you addicted. Obsessed. Obsessed with the wrong things mostly. You dudes notice how much of a sausage fest it is at our concerts? I think relationships are killing culture.”
“You would.” Casey laughed. “You always find a way to make it about that. High school is over man. Sorry chicks don’t like gorillas. Fucking loser.” Casey flinched.
“Naw. If its not one problem its another. That’s just one of the reasons. Com’on dude, I feel like I’m in a horror movie. Every time one of use hooks up with a chick we never see them again.”
“Jesus Blake! Is it really that strange that people would rather spend time with their girlfriends than fuck around with you?”
“Uh. Yes. It is ok.”
“I see what you’re concerned about.” Said Rheic.
“Thank you.”

Several sanitation droids flooded into the halls. A few people poked their heads out of their doors when the heard the whirring of so many tin cans on wheels. They all figured someone had made one hell of a mess. Lance had a towel in his hand, he’d been on his way to the baths. Thinking he might see Daren he’d waiting all this time- not to say he hadn’t bathed, he’d just done so in his personal shower. The droids had set up a small barricade around the public bath. Little red lights on their heads blinked on and off. The sound of vacuums sucking a bristles scrubbing spilled out from beyond the perimeter as he walked past. Lance decided to be direct and just knock on his friends door.

“Daren? You left your door open. Hey dude?”
“Come in.”
“You have a shirt on. What is the special occasion?”
“Jim’s dead.”
“Who’s Jim?”
“I didn’t know him that well myself but I found his body in the shower.”
“I’m sorry-”
“I’m fine.”
“You want me to leave? Or?”
“Stay. Please. I don’t know what to do after seeing that. I can’t just start playing video games.”
“What if we played them together?”
“No. It’s whatever.”
Lance took a seat on the coach. Daren spun around in his arm chair listlessly. There was a lot of clutter. All his collectors items took up almost all the space in the room, Lance for the first time noticed during that prolonged silence that he really did care about these things. They all had plastic sleeves and protectors around them and there was even a few original prints of things he himself had a lot of respect for.
“He was rotting there for a week.” Daren said is a cold yet pitiful way.
“That’s disturbing.”
“uh-huh.”
Another long silence began. Lance began to fiddle with some of the objects on the small table beside the coach. Daren spun slowly with his hand pressed to his mouth. After a few minutes passed and few more after that and after Lance had begun quietly playing with action figures and after all the sanitation droids had done their job and filtered out of the hall way- Daren said, “How much money does a trip to Mars cost?”
“Like Nine thousand.” Lance lowered the batman in his left hand and anxiously peered at his friend.
“So we’d have to save for like a year. That’s fucking lame. I dunno if its worth it.” Daren sighed.
“Actually I was going to go by myself a lot sooner than that.”
“You’ve been saving longer than me I take it.”
“Yes. But I’ve also found a way to make a good bit of change since the last time we spoke.”
“I’m not going to fall for some bullshit pyramid scheme. Get real dude.”
“No. I’ve been selling my blood. It’s really easy money and the demand is pretty high.”
“No.”
“Actually Daren, You have type O negative. That’s the most expensive blood type.”
“No. No- How do you know my blood type?”
“I know many things.”

Chapter Three

To Sail Beyond The Artificial Sea

A cloud streamed beneath a rocket above the artificial ocean. It left a fluffy white ribbon in its wake before a soft boom echoed above the beach. Soon. Lance though as he stared up through his sunglasses. Daren yelped and began to suck his finger. Lance looked down to see a crab holding a cigarette in its claw.
“Was it worth it?”
“Stupid crab. Here take a picture of it.”
“This Com-Card is pretty old.”
“Hurry and take the picture before it gets away.”

As Lance chased after the crab Rheic and Casey swam with the current a in the sea, passing by them as they rode the waves body highs. Black Beard was waiting on the shore, watching them with casual concern but watching mostly because he didn’t know how to swim. The Com-Card clicked, made an artificial shutter sounds as Lance stumbled about trying to take pictures of the crab. Black Beard laughed as the creature scuttled over his feat. Lance noticed the man with the beard and laughed nervously. Black Beard waved his hand as if to say he shouldn’t be embarrassed.

“That’s an old ass Com-Card you’re using.”
“It’s not mine. It’s his.” Lanced pointed at the black guy sunbathing a bit farther down the beach.
“You don’t look like you get out much.”
“He doesn’t either. You just can’t tell. He’d be paler than me if he wasn’t black.”
“That crab’s got a bad habit.”
“Yeah.” Lance laughed less nervously.
“You smoke?”
“Not so much. Actually, that’s his as well.”
“The crab?” Black Beard pulled out a lighter from his pocket and began fishing around in the other.
“Yes.”

Mother Nature. This water feels so wonderful. Oh mother of the earth. I am but a child in your womb. Casey splashed the poems out of Rheic’s head.
“Hey stop being a dick man. Go rough house with BB.”
“Stand up for yourself!” Splash. Splash.

“Well I’m getting kind of old myself.”
“I see.”
“Yeah kids are asshole and people never grow up anymore.”
“Indeed.”
“Those ones are alright though.” Black Beard pointed towards the sea.
“You see that rocket go up?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty cool shit. I’d have left on one of those along time ago but I’m way to far in debt.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I broke a bunch a city droids when I was 21. I’m talking millions of dollars. You might have seen it on the news.”
“Holy fuck guy.”
“Yep. I kept doing it. Eventually I realized it wasn’t getting anyone anywhere and all my friends didn’t find it that impressive after the sixth time or so. I’m basically stuck here until the end of time now.”

I wonder if they’re worried. Do they still set a plate for me? I think I’ve learned that I don’t know much of anything. I’m not even sure of that. I feel like I know I’m underwater. I think I’m thinking, I think I’m sinking but some how I’m breathing. Wasn’t there something I wanted to remember? Not the timber of my sisters voice- that’s not it. No not the way the grass smells just before dawn- that’s closer to what I’m looking for. I still need to look some more. I can see the bottom of the ocean now but how far out could I drift before it just became a dark pit? Am I really breathing right now? Somehow.

“You see those things over there? Those are what’s been eating people.”
“I live in that one.”

It’s pretty nice to see Casey shut up for once. You and me, drinking imaginary tea at the bottom of the sea. Casey do you think maybe there’s a bunch of us somewhere beyond the aquatic horizon? Maybe we all get swept out there, we fall into a pile inside a dark pit, is that where the current would take us? If we just went and took a nap right now I bet that’s where we’d end up. I feel like I’m drinking warm milk. I don’t want to play catch with sea shells- god the way the sun looks down here is something else.

Chapter Four

Transmigration 9000

Blood pumped out of his arm and rush through a tube, its flowed straight through and up into an air tight bag. They both looked quiet sickly, especially around the eyes. Sugar cookies had become a staple of their diet. Daren’s Com-Card lit up as the droid thanked him for the blood. 8090.

“I’m so excited.” said Lance in an exhausted tone.
“Oh. Yeah me too.” Daren’s echoed sentiment came with labored breath.

The five of them were gathered around table in the corner of the Carino Gato Convenience Station. Black Beard was kind enough to treat them to an all you can eat buffet. They droid behind the counter beeped and chimed as Black Beard piled hot dogs and slushies into his companions hands.

“One of these, Two of those, Three of these.”
“BB I love you.” Said Casey without so much as a flinch.
“You too babe.” Black Beard smacked Casey’s face harder than he ever had before. The slap broke the almost broke the sound barrier. Daren called on the name of Jesus in utter shock and mild admiration. Casey’s smile didn’t fade as his head snapped back into place. This was the last time he’d ever feel that hand. This was the last night they’d ever walk the mostly empty streets of New Athens. They were all sentimental about it to some extent even if Rheic was slightly numb from the seeds in his lungs he found himself less stoic than normal.
“Is it funny that in this very moment after sulking for a million years, that I actually feel at home.”
Daren looked over at Lance with visible disdain and said, “Don’t make me kill you.”

Rheic looked down at his Com-Card and let his eyes wash over pictures of Martian beaches. What a beautiful hellscape. The Sky, the water, the sand all different shades of rust and blood. The sun a yellow blob of incandesces, always obscured by the haze of the substitute vapors modified allege spit into the air. The place looks like a mirage, I wonder if we’ll like the world all blurry like that. Pictures of the disorganized streets had began to fascinate Rheic in much the same way they’d fascinated Lance. The truth of it was that Casey and Rheic would have gone and done any number of haphazard or ill conceived journeys. The two of them had become highly suggestible and never passed on the suggestion to get high. Maybe it was for that reason that Mars would be the best place for those two to be, or at least that’s what Black Beard had thought.

8700. Daren was on the roof of the apartment complex in the early hours of the morning. He was adjusting several realistic looking mannequins, posing that to appear as though they were waving farewell. One stood behind the rest without a head. A strong breeze blew through their skirts, the ghost of Marilyn Monroe. Daren popped the top off a beer and smiled down at the head of his favorite sex doll which was fit snuggly into a black velvet travel bag beside him. “You’re my favorite.” The doll’s head parroted his words back to him just as the zipper closed over her perfect cherry lips.

Near about the same time a picture of freshly squeezed orange juice had been set on a table by a service droid inside a lavish villa a few miles from the mirrored windows of the Bayside Complex. Sunrays twisted inside the yoke behind the elegant but innocuous glass as the droid made its way around the table to exit the room. Casey sat at one end, his father on the other. The top button of a stuffy shirt meant to be worn with a tie came loose as Casey fidgeted under the oppressive silence. He stole a concerned glance from the eyes that hung above the pressed suit that wore his father and then tried to distract himself from the anxiety it brought by pushing a small fork into the grape fruit on his plate.

“Casey.” Said Strelyat Senior as he took out his ear peace and places it beside a few forks arranged by length atop an napkin.
“Yeah dad?”
“I’d like you to take a look at this.” Casey’s Com-Card lit up.
“My passport?”
“Your name.”
“Oh hey, they got it wrong.”
“No Casey. As far as anyone else is concerned that’s you. I’d like not to pay a ransom in the near future.” Casey felt a nauseous feeling bubble up in his chest. “I don’t blame you. I know what it’s like to feel out of place in formal society, I left for the big red myself around the same age. I hated all the obligations that came with being a company son. I felt like I could sneeze without having to worry about my father’s job.”
“So you know?”
“Jesus Casey! You weren’t even going to tell me you were leaving were you?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m just letting you know you have another option, if you ever get sick of your new habit there’s a separate account pre-processed, you can clean up and get back down to earth.”
“I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”
“If you ever do, you know how-”
“Thanks.” Casey interjected. “It’s hard to imagine you were ever on Mars.”
“I was. Trust me. Its almost uncanny how simil-”
“What else do you know about me?” Strelyat Junior paused and his eyebrows bent down as he processed conflicting yet parallel realizations. “That I don’t know you know about me?”
“You don’t care for argyris staples or dalliac couplings.”
“What are those?”
“Exactly. Casey, trust me. I understand. This is better for everyone.”

9000. Rheic jumped down from a small wall dividing his back yard from the suburban streets. A small lizard hissed at him before scurrying off into the decretive ferns and red mulch that lined the sides of the alley way. Best of luck little buddy. As he navigated the rounded edges of the maze that was the outer ring he came cross a young woman in a long black dress sitting on a bench. She listlessly tapped her foot as she looked down at a large paper back book. “What are you reading today?” Rheic asked.
“It’s mostly prints of second millennium art.”
“Can I see?”
She dropped the heavy tomb into his hands and he began to flip through the unwieldy large pages. They’d both agree that not much has changed in a very long time and they’d both laugh about the trends that didn’t quite take off. She’d have never guessed that’d he be leaving. There was a whistle from across the way and he put the book back into her lap and waved. She called out after him “See you Monday!” but he didn’t yell back and she sat with a smile on her face. She went back to day dreaming and drifting into space.

They all met at terminal two. They were light on luggage, you could only take so much. Black beard lifted one of the red satin ropes meant to manage large lines of passengers. A creepy bestial looking man in a fur hat eyed him with contempt as he did so.
“I can’t believe it. What am I supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know man, hit the suds?” said Rheic while adjusting the straps of the guitar case on his back.
“Let this be our final battle!” Said Casey who received a earned a piercing stare from the man in the fur hat as he preceded to ape loud sound’s he’d heard from kong fu movies. Then in a soft floating motion black beards arms came to surround him and Casey. Black Beard hugged them with all the intensity of a theme park mascot.
“It’s going to be so boring.” he said in an earnest and alarmingly disarmed sort of way.

The line moved forward bit by bit. Tele-Screens displayed fluctuating stock prices and passengers manifestos with departing times labeled in the far left corner. There was a few hundred people in the terminal of which only a few dozen were aware of their surrounds. Most were too busy on their phones to take notice of the ornate fountains and strange murals on the walls. Lance toyed with the tooth of a dragon statue that had an ATM set inside it mouth. Aquariums and terrariums filled with poisonous frogs lined some of the walls. Chimes sounded about the escalators that never had more than 3 people going up or down, they signaled arrivals and delays and echoed above the great space around them that was far from filled to capacity. Black Beard stepped with them as the passengers’ were processed, stealing every moment he could from there last day on earth. I sure hope this is worth it.

Daren’s head turned as a few martian women split amongst the crowd and sauntered past him. Maybe it will be. God look at the ass on that one. A bell dinged and the screen beside them showed dossiers on the people about to board. Beside a picture of a shaggy haired twenty something with a pointy nose and deep blue eyes the name Tristan Elliots ran down amongst the pixels detailing other inaccuracies. Beside that was the picture of a meek looking youth with awkwardly parted dirty brown hair and the name Rheic Waters. Black Beard did a double take. Rheic also turned to Casey with questioning eyes. “I thought you’re name was Casey?” The look of confusion crept across Rheic’s face, confusion which infected Black Beard and reflected back onto Casey’s dumb smirk.
“I am a man of mystery. Forget everything you think you know. Our mission depends on it.” The bell chimed again and they had to go. With no time to give answers, one last minute to say goodbye, Black Beard grabbed Casey’s hand and pushed hard into his palm.
“Don’t get him killed Casey.”
“I won’t.” he’d said back with a smile before he pulled his hand way and walked past the curtains and up the dull scarlet stairs.
“arivwa.”
“sayonara.”

Chapter Five

40 Days of Dream

“The cabin will begin Anastasiatic Distribution two minutes after we exit low earth orbit. Please make sure your carry on bags are labeled properly and double check with the Somnic Care droids about any specific health concerns that may arise during our voyage.”

Darren wrote something on a plastic tag hanging off one of his bags and handed it to the machine attached to a luggage rack. “You make sure this gets there in one piece.”
“Certainly sir.” said the machine.
“Freedom!” Casey howled. “Freedom! Yeah! Good bye Earth!”
“Want some?” Lance pushed a candy bar front of Casey’s face. “It’s caramel.”
“In ten minutes we will be departing. Make sure you are seated properly. Ask a droid for assistance if you are struggling or unsure how to properly secure your property or for questions regarding-”

Good bye earth. Honestly I don’t know why I’m leaving. It’s pretty there in a way. It’s possible that after I’m used to it that I’ll think its ugly. Look at him over there. The guy’s a fucking monkey. I wish I had that kind of energy. Rheic craned his neck out to see over the cushion of his chair and looked at the other passengers. His gaze soon after returned to the yellow handcuffs around the wrists of the man next to him. From under a fur hat the devils eyes flashed. Rheic calmly decided it was best to look for answers in his Com-Card. Mars is the scrap yard of the solar system. Main imports- Population- Percentage- immigration. The cuffs were a bright yellow, almost florescent with black diagonal lines that ran across the certain grooves to indicate which side magnets were supposed to be set in to activate the release mechanism. Rheic found a few other passengers had been hiding those yellow slabs of metal beneath scarves and hand bags. They were few in number, the exception to the majority. Ah, Exile. You don’t hear about that much.

THREE. TWO. ONE.

The sound barrier broke. A cloud spilled out of an inferno and up towards the stars. The ghost of Marilyn Monroe.

“Ok. Sleepy time.”

Chapter Six

Erosion Potion

The man with the devils eyes walked up to the metal box that protruded from the wall and dropped his hands into it. His handcuffs unlocked with an unpleasant popping sound before the tinked and tanked away from his wrists. The next thing that man did was take off his fur hat. Much less velvet ropes were to be seen while arriving on Mars than there had been when they left Earth. The place was lit in a way to maximize visibility to the detriment of comfort. Every shadow seems to be directly underneath every vending machine and pair of sneakers. Beyond the few windows there were could be seen that distinct red haze they’d dreamed about for weeks, and days, and perhaps during the month they’d been put to sleep out in the void of space.
A guitar case looped around an automatic belt just beyond the turn style, beside it was a bowling bag that seemed very near and dear to Daren as he pulled it off the line. He unzipped the bag with haste and let his eyebrows rise back into place when her heard his mannequin’s head greet him.
“I think we should eat first.” Lance said. “It’s going to be a bit until they get back to me.” He pointed down at his Com-Card and motioned for the others to look at the screen. “Martian Cuisine. We could go for an authentic deep dish, or horse shoe crab. Any place that’s close really. I don’t care.”
“The air is thin as fuck out here.” Daren said with a slight wheeze. Casey slapped him on the back and leaned over to see the map on Lance’s screen.
“That one. The Red Moon Bar and Grill. It’s right next to the analog antiques. It said they had a cathode ray tube amusement device.” Daren let out another wheeze and a sigh but thought it was better not to argue about it. Rheic, he’d slipped away from the rest of them, found himself outside beyond the red dust that clung to the glass doors. Neon shimmered between the thick winds- a mix of fog and blood colored particles. Yellow and pink letters flickered and rotated near racks of magazines and between billboards advertising taxis. A soft endless orange cloud turned breaks in the skyline into water color silhouettes that lost their shape and definition. All the roof tops gently swallowed by a slow motion room temperature explosion and all the boots and wheels moving under the glare of exotic colors.
“There you are!” Casey exclaimed with ferocious zeal and joy. He grabbed him by the hand and kept running. “Look at that! Look at this!” they laughed. Jumped.
“Red Moon it is then.” Lance said as he watch the two of them sprint through the new world.

Sweat dotted Daren’s forehead and he sluggishly followed Lance through the alleys. Weird looking people, and what’s that smell. A man wearing a thin copper veil and a dusters coat bumped into him as the both tried to pass a narrow corridor that got even more narrow where pipes cropped out from the buildings. The man apologized as he pressed forward. Daren took note of the veil and the glove’s- the chain link scarves he’s seen on some of the women. It made sense to him then it’d only taken a few minutes of the lamentation to understand. The sand stings. Occasionally gusts of wind found their way into the maze like back streets, dive bombing in like a falcon from beyond the empty laundry lines or crashing down like water in the halls of a sinking ship. Daren places his hand on a stone wall lined with sun bleached stickers. “Hold up a minute.”
“Sure man.” Lance walked a few steps back toward his friend. He popped a stick of gum in his mouth and leaned against the wall casually.
“This is going to take some getting used to.” Daren said between panting and wiping sweat from his eyes.
“Mongolian’s have the easiest time adjusting to it.”
“Well good for them.”

The entrance to the Red Moon was a wooden door engraved with beautifully renders depictions of the 12 zodiac signs surrounding a simplistic Spartan helmet cut into the wood. The wood had been varnished in a way to make its look nearly black but shine a regal brown at certain angles, this gave way to the white lines in the design of the zodiac, the inner flesh of the wood mystic and pale added to both it’s strangeness and beauty. The door lay behind tattered pokadot drapes and a paper lantern that bore a cresset moon made of red wax. A brolic seven foot tall goliath of a man covered in leather ducked his head under the frame as he left the restaurant soon fallowed a woman of about the same height but who in contrast was thin as a rail with elegant flowers seemed into a white dress that clung to her hip bone.

A pair of twenty something’s, one fiddling with the straps of a guitar case on his back and the other stuck in a constant loop of zipping and unzipping the collar of his wind breaker jacket stood on opposite sides of the entrance. Casey looked down at his device between adjusting the straps that clung to his shoulder. He checked the time, Rheic zipped and unzipped and zipped again. This continued for a good while until they transitioned to sitting on the ground. Casey found that his guitar was mostly still in tune. Rhei made a game out of throwing stones at the wall across the narrow street.

“This tastes like the first cigarette I ever had.”
“You’d think you’d be breathing better. Your lungs are probably pink now or at the very least a lighter shade of black.”

Satisfaction. Rheic thought as he melted into the cushion of the dinning booth. Absolutely wonderful. Oh. Hey. Casey ordered another plate of fries to go with his beer. The waitress gave him and wink intended to shake a few extra cents on to the table -which worked. He noticed the smallest of rises and the most minuet of slopes in the skin around her eye lashes, covered in a suggestive shade of dark umbra. Yes. We. Are. In. The. Restaurant. Right now. The. Booth. On. The. Back wall. Enter. Casey tipped his beer bottle back as he focused his attention on the waitresses ass. Hungry eyes. No shame. O kay. But. Give. Me. A moment. I. Am. Kind of. High. Food was great. Very good. Yum. Yum. Rheic pressed enter and grabbed a fry from the plate.

“I see. Do I have to wear it all the time?” Daren said to the man cross the counter.
“It depends on the person but you can get by without any mind for about an hour if you’ve had strapped it for a the first half of the day. Lots of people put them on while they sleep. You should be golden until you get home. For that you might find these of interest.” The man walked away from the register and towards a pile of baby blue boxes with cartoon clouds and words printed in fluffy fonts across the bent edges of the cardboard. “Rapid Carbon Converters.”

Lance examined the cure to martian air that’d been left on the front desk as the sales representative picked words from the either. While a lengthy discussion on payment plans and credits bounced off the labels on Rapid Carbon Converters Rheic and Casey quietly slipped into the store. A cat sat on an office chair flicked its ear and pretended not to notice. The device was a hybrid of inhalers and scuba snorkels. A very polite looking gas mask. The one Lance was turning over, a display model, was made of translucent plastic that revealed its inner workings. Inside the bulbs where the breath was captured- something like moss, something like algae and from that spongy mushroom stalks reached for the edges of the glass and pawed at the chemicals around it with green peddled flowers that bloomed and retracted in a rhythmic sort of way.

Chapter Seven

King Author

Red poked through the holes, gently rubbed up against the wires. Chipped concrete walls with divots and bumps. Scratch marks and graphite. The four of them ducked under discarded rebar and sauntered past a pile of street signs. The sun had started to set and just as it was getting a bit to dark to read the words above the doors candescent lights flickered on to help them not trip while their shoes swung over broken parts and cracks in the street. A door with rusted hinges creaked. The coil of the lamp next to a green plack hummed. The Cyrillic letters that marked the building they were entering passed through the lens of Rheic’s Com Card. Translated to Terran English; Fox Hole.
The stair case yawned with each step. They held onto the railing because the halls were barely lit. Different shades of white peeked out of the bottom of every other door. When they reached the third floor they heard a parrot screech. Lanced knock twice. A minute passed where they simply stood in the dark amongst floating particles of dust. The chain lock banged against the wood and an eye scanned them up and down. “It’s me. Callous-Calligraphy.” Said Lance to the eye. The chain fell off. The hall lit up and there stood a man dressed in brown rags- each on with several pockets - with keys tied on to threads that hung about his chest. Jagged yellow teeth made there way into view as a smile opened up his massive grey beard.

“Holy. Shit.” The man said with glee. “This way. This way come in.” He motioned to the rest of them to follow as Lance stepped over an umbrella and avoided a discarded news paper. Floral patterns lined the walls. The sent of chocolate and bread strongly defined the mans home. “Sit. Sit.” Books and old computers beside dark oak tables and framed pictures printed on celluloid. The desk at the back of the room inspired want in Lance and was noticed by the others in part because of its strangely hypnotic design and partly due to the strange curios and oddities stood upon it. Something jade in a gold trimmed box beside a marble bust behind several pages in a stack. A taxidermy lynx hissing silently at them.

“These are my friends.” Lance floated his hand toward the men sinking into the coach. They introduced themselves without hesitation and with relaxed tones. The place was charming and had eased them all into a disarmed mode of being. Their eyes flirted with the many shelves and the perplexing adornments on the walls.
“And I’m Marquis Wischard.” Marquis leaned against the desk and sunk a hand into one of his pockets. He then directed his voice at Lance. “It’s been quite boring on the forums this month Callous. I really hope you get back to it soon.”
“I had about four thousand dreams on the way over here, I’m sure to remember a dozen of them if I try real hard. I can vaguely see one of them now that’d make a good story. It’s right there. Just almost.”
“Good. Good.”
“Put that down.” Daren whispered in contempt as he slapped Casey’s hand.
“Oh come now.” The old man said in a patronizing tone. “This is my room of wonders. It’s what its for.”
“Yeah Daren!” Casey said with an evil smirk.
“Here.” Marquis said as he handed Casey a key and began to untie another from his coat. “This one is for you, and this one, here.” The final key he dropped into Lance’s and then pushed his fingers closed around it. “If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”
“What’s this?” Casey asked not about the key but the collections of beakers and tubes in one corner of the room.
“That’s my golden goose. Or.” Marquis paused and scratched at his beard. “It will be soon.”
“It smells good.”
“Oh. Well. Please don’t touch that one.” The old man cleared his throat. “I can tell you two pop.”
“Is that what this is?” Casey said with a carnal thirst. “I’ve been wondering where we’d find some up here.” Rheic’s stoic demeanor gave way as he shifted in his seat with interest.
“Ah. Well this isn’t for you but there’s no shortage of that on Mars. You can get them from the store all be it, they’re sold under a different name. In fact you seemed to have bought some just today.”

A bit past three in the morning everyone save for Lance and Marquis had passed out. They sipped tea out of tall cups and moved pieces about the chess board between long conversations. Often Lance would look past the old man’s shoulder, transfixed on a golden lion mask mounted on the wall. During the night he’d be reassured that there was no lack of work on Mars as he had been reassured in the forums from which they’d spoken over the last decade. Lanced mused at the memories of waiting weeks between correspondence. So much history went into all the little details that made today what it is. If not for the belt of magnetic dust between Earth and Mars we could have spoken in real time instead of sending data packets. There’s so much lost to us. A conflict with reasons only found on melted hard drive spinning out in the vacuum of space. Terran information is completely sanitized and Mars is just trying to keep the lights on. In all these books or in one of those old machines, I wonder if he’ll ever find the answers to what happened then.

Chapter Eight

Pump Up the Volume

“Great you’re hired. Put this on. You’ll start now.” A pink baseball cap was shoved down onto his head and a broom throw into his hand. UFO Taco had claimed Rheic as its own. The ins and outs of taco assembly came naturally to him. He’d day dream about what kinds of things he’d fill this empty room with. Rheic found himself smiling at the simplistic joy of it all. Found himself fascinated by the trends on this new world. Laughing under his breath at how strange the music was.
Casey had found a few fliers for Martian bands looking for someone to play behind a lead. He’d considered trading in the guitar for a base for almost a minute before his ego caught up with the utilitarian side of his brain. Looking out the window of a train he admired the giant church in the center of the city. At the time that’s what he believed it to be. Later he’d find out that church was more like the white house, that the Echo Tower was where the big wigs talked about big shit. This knowledge didn’t sour his disposition on the tower. He’d ignore the facts for the sake of fantasy. To him it was something out of Tolkien and he’d often see it in dreams. It stood out amongst everything. An unreasonably tall gothic church placed between highways and bullet trains. Some places looked like old Rome but dressed up with chrome and bone colored flags. Other areas looked like Tokyo got drunk in the year two thousand and had a love child with a Mayan temple, although it did have fetal alcohol syndrome.
Different bits of culture melded together in unplanned and often violent ways. Some blocks were better than others. The food was amazing. It was the cuisine that Daren was the most concerned with. The taste, the smells, things he only faintly remembered from before like the A frame house made out of wood (or something close to it) and vending machines that took coins. It was noon and the sky looked like tropical fruit in a blender, with light wisps of black smoke accenting the mango clouds and the hard peach that meant it would rain soon. A woman’s wallet bounced against the pavement next to his feet. He did a soft sprint towards a blue dress.
“Excuse me ma’am! You dropped this!”
Long locks woven over each other in an eye catching sort of way. They swung and dangled just above her waist. She turned to him. She almost looked aero dynamic, they way those dreads parted above her face like the wings of a bird. “A gentle man.” She said with surprise. Her coffee colored cheeks giving way to a beautiful smile. Those lips. Her laugh lines had been subtlety touched up. Such a detailed would have gone unnoticed by all but Daren and others of his ilk who have devoted their entire existence to appreciating the female form.
“Can’t say anyone’s ever called me that before.” He handed her the wallet. Her thumb linger atop his for a second longer than you’d expect. Subtle. At that moment the fire in the sky gave way to pouring rain. The woman yelped in dismay. An adorable sound. The two of them scurried over to a bus stop across the street and took shelter beneath its roof. Cherry nails, long but not to long extended toward Darren.
“Clair.” She said. She through part of her elegant mess of dreads behind her shoulder as Darren clasped her thin fingers and places a kiss just over the vein in her hand.

“Knight to E five. This late in the game and you refuse to close out the match.”
“Hey. You know full well where that was going.”
“We’ll be here all night Callus.” The old man pushed a bishop across the board.
“Do you mind?”
“I suppose not.” The old man sipped at his cup of Earl Grey tea.
“All. Knight. Long.”
“Oh. Is that check mate?”

Dust shook loose from the ceiling. Kick Kick Snare. The guys had their amps set up all wrong, a not so humble opinion of Casey Strelyat would try to keep to himself. Are the mids turned down to zero. What the fucks going on over here. There was a man in with wool socks hiked all the way up to his denim shorts sitting in a rickety chair in front of apartment seven. “I’m here to join the jam session,” Casey flashed the crude flier he’d found a few blocks over. Flicked his thumbs against the straps of his guitar case. Fuck this guy’s ugly.
“This way little man.” Fuck you. Ugly mother fucker. Casey followed the man into the dungeon. Permanent marker had been smeared across the walls. PLEASURED GUILTY. A number of failed attempts at logos for the band were scribbled under the name. A bit stale but it could work I guess. Casey wasn’t very critical of most thing but he was deadly serious about music. The bald man with the big ears who’d lead him into the dungeon noticed as much. They came into view and the settings on the amp sounding all the more horrendous the closer Casey got to the sound. They didn’t stop. They kept strumming and jumping as he walked into the deafening cacophony. Without so much as blinking Casey began to change the dials on their equipment. Noticing but pretending not to the bassist punched a hole in the ceiling as if it weren’t for show. Noticing but not acknowledging the rest of the band hit on there instruments harder as the sound began to stop competing. Bulimic but he’s got a somewhat symmetrical face. Kind of sucks on base. Second behind me in photos. Inoffensive fat ass drummer. Kind of sucks at drums. Decent guitarist, he can play rhythm.
The song reach a crescendo and that was of end of it. They gave each other compliments while still pretending not to notice Casey. He pushed the end of his patch cord into stack while back slaps were being had at the expense of efficacy. A chord rang out. All eyes on him. “Listen up you no name chumps. I’m the guy with the big dick.” Two more chords rang out. “This song is for all the angles that fell upward. Taste this cock! Bitch!”

“Really now?”
“Yeah, you never here anything about it.”
“I mean that makes sense. Why would they tell you.” The old man sipped at his tea.

Taco after taco. The clock seemed slower than ever. He remember that there were 40 extra minutes in a martian day and tried not to groan. On his break Rheic dipped into the nachos he’d been preparing all day. He took off his stupid pink hat and draped his apron over the seat beside him. God this fucking sucks. I shouldn’t complain too much but god dam. Is this the only place you can get Tacos on the planet? “It’s cheap.” said a martian girl as she took a seat in front of him. “It’s fast too.” She looked Asiatic but mixed with something darker. Martian fashion was perplexing to Rhei, on one hand it was usually practical and yet somehow there was always something that through off the entire look. In this case it was the purple sunglasses tangled in her hair. Bizarre. He thought as he looked down at what seemed like a yellow chain mail dress. “New here?” She asked.
“Yup.” Said Rhei before putting a straw into his mouth.
“Need friends?” She has a weird smell about her.
“Never have. I don’t mind them though.”
“That’s weird.” I’m weird?
“My break is almost over.”

“A glorified penal colony? No. How can it be glorified if nobody mentions it?”
“Right. Knight to C six.”
“Check mate?”
“Check.”

Chapter Nine

Upside Down Over a Well

A snake charmer whistled into a flute in front of an empty clay pot. Caged dogs bark at the smell of beef on his apron. Kids chased each other with broken mop handles, dodging scolding from the vendors in the bizarre between parrying imaginary swords. Passing by a dusty mirror being sold at half price he removed the UFO from his head. A stupid pink hat with a spacecraft logo, smelling like beef and spice. The essence of shish kabob permeated the area. It’d been too long since he’d been this hungry. It was almost unfamiliar, this feeling in his stomach. He felt the weight of the five dollar coins in his pocket and scanned his surroundings.
A small bronze disk engraved with the face of a saint tumbled down from the slot of a vending machine, disappearing into a mystery behind the face plate. A satisfied from with a big tung stared back at him as his finger hovered over the number pad. Seven sodas unceremoniously fell atop each other into the shelf. He reached down with slight dismay. All the more embarrassing that pulling them out was more complicated than he’d anticipated, the cans had wedged themselves against each other in the worst way possible.
Eventually Rheic found himself with four soda hanging over his should inside his apron turned improvised soda sack. He’d be chewing off the last bit of lamb from a kabob when he stumbled in front of a movie theater. Women in fur coats held onto the arms of smiling men. All kinds of people in all sorts of good moods pointing at the posters with light bulbs for frames. Inside the projector glowed onto bags of popcorn. His slip proof shoes stuck to the floor. No one had asked about the cans of pop inside his apron.
A few logos took their time hanging over the audience. When the sound kicked in it raddled the ice in the cups, made the popcorn vibrate. Inside a low frequency a story began to unfold. Cigars and snub-nosed revolvers had been cast as the stars of the flick. A tale about intentions and the tragic accidents they caused. He got all wrapped up in it. The ideal and the gravity of reality. A Christmas tree without and color, under which were hints and question as to who could be a killer. Was there more than one? It seemed as though he’d figured it out but then in the second act, for reasons he could not understand his hand began to move in a circle above the armrest of his seat. His thumb and index finger pressed together. He grabbed is wrist with his other fist. With distress smeared across his face his eyes began to water.
He slid a seed into his lung. The woman on the big screen sighed and fluttered her eyes in black and white. Her lip stick glistened in the holograph. The Com-Card in his pocket rang. Casey’s voice filtered through the speaker as he put it to his ear. “Dude! Where are you!”
“I’m at the movies.”
“What are ya watching?”
“Iron Lotus it think its called. OR. Steal. Something like that. It’s a Noir.”
“Hey shut the fuck up!” A distant voice thrown from somewhere in the dark of the theater chastised him.
“Give me a second.”

“Hey uh. Yeah. Do you want to meet up? I’ve got some pop.”
“I just slid a double dose down. We don’t have to share anymore dude. Isn’t that crazy?”
“I guess it is. Yeah.”
“I’ll be over in a bit.”

“This place looks a lot less angry at night.” Said Casey as he pulled the tab back on a can of lime soda. The drink depressurized over the curb and into a street drain.
“I like it when its dark out. I’m still getting used to our new moon.”
Casey leaned against the lamp post, taking big swigs, turning his head at regular intervals to shamelessly stair down the backs of women leaving the cinema. The sky was a void pure and empty save for the moon that shook inside the smoke of the atmosphere. A golden chain mail dress shimmered between passing buses and long coat across the street before slipping away into an alley. The pungent vapors of char grilled burgers mixed with exhaust fumes.
“Nights on Mars. You think we’ll get bored of these too?”
“Casey.”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you have blood on your knees?”
“I had a bit of fun today. Looks like rock and roll doesn’t it.”
“I guess so.”
“So what now?”

Inside the Red Moon Rheic and Casey took turns flicking a folded napkin at each other. The waitress sighed melancholic while taking a damp cloth to the booth next to theirs. A sad nostalgia was brought on when she hear the two of them praise each others accuracy and a pining - a thirst fell behind her eyes as they made low stakes bets on the most trivial things. A yellow notepad was then in front of her eyes, obnoxiously close to her nose. Casey’s greasy thumb pressing against a dollar sign.
“You dropped this.”
“Oh. Thank you sweetie. Do you boys need anything?”
Just then the bells above the entrance jingled. Eight feet of muscle wrapped in leather dropped it’s heavy boots in large strides toward the bar stool. The restaurant shook slightly.
“We’re good. Just about to head out. Right Rhei?” Rheic nodded quietly.

In took not but five seconds after they’d past through the pokadot curtains for Casey to make quips about the man’s size. A Spartan helmet watched them with a disapproving scowl. Rheic stopped to tie his shoes as his friend when on about Samson and Goliath. A small smacked against the red lantern.
“Hey. Which one are you?” Casey said pointing at the zodiac symbols on the door.
“I’m a sheep.”
“That’s Chinese Rhei.”
“I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t serve egg rolls. I wish it did.”

Night after night. Week after week, Rheic would tie his shoe beside that door with the moon watching from on high. It shimmered like a mirage in the martian fog, a light in a black lake floating slowly sideways. The repetition became hardwired into them through the sweat and sleep of those first few weeks. Sometimes his laces were knotted tight before he reached down to redo them. It was something automatic, that he never questioned. They had the same conversations in nearly the same way only changing slightly and due mostly to which movies had been played.
There was once an afternoon where he’d stumbled on by chance a woman in a white dress taking a bow to a chello. A crowd had gathered around her, folks of some religious persuasion that demanded brown robes and long dust colored vales to be worn on Sundays. It was in the open square just beyond the Echo Tower, there in front of a water fountain that’d fallen into disrepair. The strings bent against it’s neck. A sound sublime and tragic. She sang in a language that couldn’t be translated.
The big guy in black was within arms reach of that women. She sung like a siren while he stood beside her with his arms crossed. The women threw coins into a bucket that was being passed around. Shining disks with saints and eagles on top. Pop! Pop! Everyone ran in different directions. Pop! The man in black picked up the woman like she was made of cloth. Pop! They ran off. She dropped her bow string on the side walk as she clung to his shoulder. Rheic stood there unaware and only slightly curious. Saw a man with a small gun grab the bucket off the ground. He was all chest hair and tattoos. He scowled at Rheic while he scooped up the coins from the ground. Gold fillings and a crooked nose.
Nothing came of it. Martians seem to know. That’s what he’d been told by the waitress. Truth of it was that Rheic knew just as well, that once upon a time he would have been scared but no one from earth could ever be a hero. It didn’t mean to much, maybe just a bit but running would have been exhausting. He thought about it. He tied his shoes in front of the door. The big guy was right on schedule, perhaps a few minutes late. He passed through the pokadot curtains just before the sky began to piss. The rain. It tastes like bleach.

Chapter Ten

Failure by Design

“It’s planned Obsolesce. That’s the problem you have down on earth hun.” Her cherry red nails crossed over each other. She placed her chin down on her bent thumbs. Looked into his eyes through the flame of the candle between them.
“I’m not going back. It’s not my problem.” The faint sound of forks hitting plate and conversations decorated with white napkins. Bubbling wines. “I plan to die here miss. That’s half of why I came.”
“Why not live here.” She said with a wink as she reached out for his hand.
“Clair.” he said as he kissed her hand. “I got you something.” Out of his front coat pocket a small box with a tiny white ribbon came into view. “Go on. Open it.”
A bangle covered in jewels and amber, its form seductive yet reserved. “My god Darren. Its beautiful!” He kissed her hand again. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’m doing pretty well for myself these days. It’s nothing to fret over. I love you Clair.” Her eyed fluttered and set deep into his own. Those eye’s widened. Beautiful black holes, the gravity of which was inescapable. Later they’d smile in the hotel hallway. Bumping into the walls and taking oaths to never drink again. Teasing, joking, assessing with accuracy that they were both bad influences caught in a regressive loop of love and conversation. Such things are best if they never end. A good dream you can have every evening and wake up to every morning. Pleasant ideas, mints on the pillows. Wonderful things always. After he’d negotiated a deal or turned the page before the back cover of the budget report, there was this. Joy.
__________________________________________________________________________________

A beer bottle with the rising sun on the label. Red lines flowing into a red circle. Foam flooded into it’s neck as Daren drunkenly slapped into down on the table. “That’s good my friend.” He said in a satisfied manner. Lance and Casey tapped their beers together. Rheic lifted his brew limply- a gesture of solidarity that faded halfway towards what it should have been. They passed creature comforts around the dinning table, some of which had been illegal in Echo in a distant forgotten time that only the old man would be able to remember. They’d raised their glasses to their ancient host earlier in the night. They’d raised their glasses to a great many things- most of which were juvenile in nature.
The waitress brought another tray of drinks over to their booth. “Want to hook it with a rock star babe?” Casey’s mating call was both flattering and infuriating. She took it in stride. Maybe even appreciated it.
“Casey.” Daren addressed his friend in an elongated patronizing way.
_______________________________________________________________________________

The water started boiling. “No. You have to roll it in the yoke before you roll it in the bread.” Daren slapped a cut of chicken out of Casey’s hand and pointed at a bowl at the other end of the counter. Lance sat at the table waiting patiently for his mid-night lunch. His Com-Card lay sideways on the table, he tapped it with his fingers- it projected a hologram of the short story he was penning- it floated a thin light that only proved distracting when looked upon directly. That light shimmered in the vapors of the culinary chemistry that pervaded* the claustrophobic kitchen. “Don’t fucking pick you’re nose. Wash you’re hands.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

A man in a lab coat stood behind a podium. Four hundred Martians were staring toward the stage, some were students, others investors and some were inventors. The Echo city flag was draped on a pole beside the podium. A golden lion laid atop green and black stripes. Windows set into the wall as close to ceiling as could be- reflected the ambient light from the highway -headlights at night. The Martian scientist leaned into the microphone. “Our next speaker is.” He looked at his notes. “Daren Smith. C.E. O. of the Oneirium Love and Synthetics.”
Daren walked out from behind the curtain and stood before the audience behind the podium. He straightened his neck tie. “I’m Daren Smith, I run a Synthetics and self pleasure venture which went public last week.” He winked at the audience. The projector splashed his companies logo onto the wall. “There has always been an appetite for flesh. Since the day man walked up right. Since before he walked up right.” He pressed his thumb into his Com-Card. The picture on the wall switched out with another. “This is our competition. Um. Hookers.” The people mostly made snickering sounds. Four hundred voices collided with each other softly. “And this is what makes our competition so fierce.” The image was then swapped out for a collage of cybernetics and plastic surgeries. A before and after picture of a burn victim and a pop star.
“As it was, it’s always been cheaper to hire hookers than to get your own personal droid. Until I stream lined the process.” His thumb slid across the screen of his Com-Card. “Demand for import droids has been selling tickets to Earth for quiet sometime. Guns and Guts are needs not wants which make for rather stable markets and safe investments. I envisioned a world where you don’t need to be a millionaire to have a robot relations.” The audience laughed. “The models on the market before O.L.A.S. barely resembled humans or if they do then they don’t move much. Just a few gyros. Fourteen R.P.M. tops.”
“So. I when I came to Mars, as a robotic enthusiast who’d left his entire harem to see the big red.” He turned his head and coughed. His throat itched he coughed twice more and then reached for an inhaler inside his breast pocket. He pressed the cartridge down. Breathed deep and wiped the water from his eyes.
“Sorry. I figured it was my duty to make affordable women. Men too if that’s your thing.” He sniffled. His voiced started to rasp. “Just as Henry Ford revolutionized automotives with a factories and standardized parts so too did I set about making a cheaper sex-droid.” A black and white photograph beside a picture taken at Smith’s production facility. “There’s no shortage of prosthetics limps and what’s more they are sized too fit a singular person. These things are often stripped for parts but ultimately thousands of dollars are lost in the process. What I did was take into account the most common proportions and algorithmically assemble the bride of Frankenstein. I got the bits for cheap. It’s all scrap alone but when you put the puzzle together its worth more than it’s weight in gold.”
Marquis stood up, the fold out chair fell against the ground behind him. “My god it’s brilliant!” He yelled. Four hundred heads turned. The old man started clapping. Some of the room chuckled.
Daren felt pride brimming in his bosom. His eye’s watered slightly as a grin beamed onto his face. He leaned into the microphone. “I’ll be taking questions now if any of you have some.”
_______________________________________________________________________________

The wheels of Daren’s limo stopped in front of a headstone. His swaide leather shoe’s touched the grey bricks set into the cemetery road. Her heels followed after him. His watch said it was three in the afternoon.
“This is the one place in this god forsaken city I’ve never seen.” She said turning about in a circle. The graves stuck out of the hills, some were placed down in the slopes- some forgotten in the shadow to statues and obelisks. Things eroded quick here. Some of the letters on newer tombs were nearly illegible. It was all sand the color of bone and small pebbles as white as snow. The city surrounded the mountain of the forgotten dead. It looked as though an ancient civilization with pillars and religious icons were still in fashion. It looked as though that ancient city had risen from the ground and displaced the many office buildings that surrounded it.
“Such a big place and yet we’re the only one’s here.” He said.
“Look at that one.” she giggled “I’m glad they had a sense of humor.”

They sat on a marble bench. Daren’s breath was heavy under the collar of his dress shirt. He loosened his tie. Coughed hoarsely for a minute. Wiped his nose. She asked “are you going to be ok?”
“Yeah. Yes.” a slight cough. “Just a minute.”
She averter he gaze and stroked the stone pedals of a rose carved into the side of the bench. The day was coming to a close. The intricate stones above the dead began to cast longer shadows.
“You know I used to-” he said “I used to wonder why they had to go. Mom, Dad.” breathing a little easier. “There was only one rule and they broke it. I’ll never know why they did.” He looked at his watch and softly let his hand topple on to hers. “I was seven when it happened. A lot of things are lost to me. A lot of people fell away from there folks. Mostly people chose to. A long choice that took years to make, they just kept forgetting until one day those folks weren’t around anymore- and no one noticed.” She was looking at him dead on as he stared straight and away from her. “That’s not something I’d like to see happen. I want to see love again. I could barely remember it before I came here. This place is shit but at least it exists. People love and hate. It’s not like that back home.”

Daren found his last name. His parents graves. “I never thought I’d ever seen you again.”

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Chapter Eleven

Cacophony Crusade

“Hey! Hey! Hey! I want to talk to you!” two hundred and fifty pound of blubber pulled Casey by the collar. A fight broke out between the two and soon after half a dozen party goers joined in the fray. The strobe light captured snap shots of bloody noses. Fists and beer hit the walls and the floor. Casey was flung into the wall, catching a glimpse of Rheic lazily looking down at his Com-Card before being pulled back into the maelstrom. Somebody puked. Drums slammed and people cheered in the next room.
“You Tristan’s friend?” A long finger pushed into his shoulder. Long blond hair in an argyle sweater put it’s hands in front of its mouth and asking the question louder. Rheic nodded. The strobe light opened its shutters. That’s a weird looking dude. Are those black eye’s or make up? Drugs? A picture of Daren giving a thumbs up and a determined look in front of his companies latest prototype popped up on his Com-Card. Another picture of Daren with his crotch press against the prototype sex-bot came shortly after along with the text; DO WHAT YOU LOVE. That’s. Awesome. Daren. Happy for. You. Send.

The lights turned on. An ugly man in a bullet proof vest started banging pots and pans together. Casey could be heard yelling in the stair well. “Out! Out! Get em’ the fuck out!”
“It’s closing time people! You don’t have to go home but get the fuck out of her!” The man with the pots and pans chanted loudly. Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank! “Party is over!”

Casey walked up to the two of them. He held a damp cloth against his forehead. A bit of blood drip out from under his eyebrows and newly minted scars above his cheeks.
“Hey Blondie. Thanks for the help.” Casey sneered sardonically.

“You’re Welcome.” Said the flaxen haired bum.
“Nope. Get out. Get!” Casey grabbed the guy by the arm and shoved him out the door.

A group of six. Rheic, Casey and most of his band gathered up the trash and threw it into black garbage bags. “Rhei this is Winston. Have you met Winston?”
“Yeah we’ve met.”
“Yeah Casey, are you retarded? We hung out yesterday. For like the entire night. The fuck dude.” Said the bald bassist with ears that were a bit too big.

“Rhei what do you think about the holes in the walls. Pretty aren’t they?”
“I guess.”
“Rhei.” Casey said pulling the sheet off the inebriation station. Red plastic cups cascaded onto the floor. Several cans of spray paint and boxes full of industrial markers had been stowed away beneath the table.
“Hey Rhei. Look at all these shitty logos on the walls. Don’t they piss you off.” Casey tossed one of the cans of spray paint at Rheic’s chest. He caught the can with conviction.

The permanent markers lost their caps. Ink slid down the walls. Rheic was entranced. Detailed feathers and stylized fingers. Window frames that drifted upward to become crosses in the sky. A whole scene that started where the eye would first fall. It was sublime- divine. Inspired by the holy elements at were out of view, Martian streets they’d seen a million times but never noticed. An X-ray of what things could be and what they were. With every little twist of his hand a thousand words poured into an inch. He was there all night. The rest of them sat on the floor observing. Chemicals danced between their eyes and marveled in wonder at what Rheic could do.

Rheic blinked in disbelief at the beauty he had rot upon the wall. Casey walked over and stood beside him.
“You look surprised.”
“I didn’t know I could do this.”
“Dude are you fucking with me? This is all you ever do.”

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A red convertible sped down an empty highway. Desert blurred on beyond both sides of the dash board. Approaching 300 miles per hour. The radio blared “chaos in blue” - saxophone and sideways base. Lance was bridging the gap between nowhere and anywhere. Approaching large mounds of raw metals, large asteroids tackled and brought down long ago to increase the gravity. Between long stretches of nothing he’d find small groupings of trailers here and there. Towns that depended on a single gas station for coin. Strange people, down trodden Martians who’d had enough of the violence in Echo city.
Most things didn’t live natural on Mars. A few bugs and the odd alien from earth took well enough. The moths had shrunk, such was rapid evolution. The air was this and it got even thinner out in the open. He’s stopped to see the sights. Big vats of green sludge that made life possible. Wide mines that sank deep into the earth and boiled with black smog. It was on an after noon like this, with the great heat lamp in the sky cooked the monkeys in their metal huts that Lance had penned the majority of his novel. His work was coming to a close. The wind ripped into his unkempt hair and smashed against his sun glasses.
How do I end this. He smacked his thumb against the steering wheel in rhythm with the jazz on blast. He adjusted the mirror. He became distracted by his reflection. Wordlessly approved of his new leather jacket. Long ago Lance had ditched the lose fitting sweat pants for boot cut jeans, a more recent acquisition at the time- the heavy boots that went with them - slammed to the floor along with the accelerator. All I can see is poems. Where is this all supposed to go? The engine burned with anger. A road sign passed by to quickly to read. The holographic dashboard projected a snap shot of it next to the bobbling head of a hula girl.
The convertible lowered its inertial dampeners and the air around Lance depressurized. The car rolled to a stop. His hair stuck up in a strange way, something between a pompadour cut and Einstein. He pushed the trigger on the green handle of the gas pump. Squinted his eyes as he took of his sunglasses and peering into the endless sands of the wasteland. This place doesn’t look to different from Carino Gato. He thought. Aside from the human behind the counter it was essentially the same place. He took a red coin out of his jacket pocket and got back seven silver ones.
“A lot of people come through this way?” He asked the man behind the counter.
“Just enough to justify it. This place I mean.” The man raised his hands and gestured at the walls.
_______________________________________________________________________________

I set out to find them. The people whom I’d know for most of my life but who’s faces I’d never seen without distortion. People, paper and pavement were about the only things I could give the time of day. I loved the roads. On earth they’d never let you behind the wheel. It was always some droid. Always a black box at the front of a bullet train. It felt surreal. It felt Euphoric, riding with my own wheels. Spinning out into the endless desert. I was hooked. I fell head over wheels.

_________________
There’s more than what you’ll see
________________

Translucent violet tinted igloos. Rows of them sticking out of the clay colored earth. A tall imposing fence made of divided horizontal bars formed a rectangular perimeter around the farm. A tan long coat swayed in the wind. Boots with many buckles stirred up dust and pressed into the cracked earth. The farmer got down on all four and twisted a knob- pulled at a latch and crawled into one of the igloos. He took off his helmet and sat cross legged amongst an patch of watermelons, cabbage, basil. Inside the enclosure everything that could be seen was a different shade of purple. It was at once cooler and more humid.
The farmer stuck a rod into the ground. A digital display told him the PH levels were proper. He took a knife out of his boot and cut into one of the melons. The juice stained his long curled mustache and drip down his bare chin. He checked. Spit out a seed. He pulled out his Com-Cards and propped it up diagonally on the leaf of a cabbage so that it was facing him. The screen pushed away the violet tint. The Echo City presidential debate. Two men in suites were gripping podiums and staring daggers into each others eyes.
“That’s because you were a pet not a slave.” Said the incumbent, a man with a long pony tail and angular features that you’d expect to see on the face of stranger offering deals at midnight at a cross roads. The incumbent light a cigarette and waved the flame at his opponent. “Normalizing relations with Far-Side is a fools errant. What about it do you want to see normalized. Public executions.”
“There’s more than enough public executions already. Day in and day out people are packed into crates. Thrown into the ocean. They didn’t start calling it the dead sea until you were elected.”
“That’s a damned lie.” A feed of the security monitor came over the debate. A man in a black jacket, his eyes hidden by sun glasses walked up the drive. I wasn’t expecting visitors. The farmer thought. He pulled a plastic bag out of his coat. Dragged a mostly intact water melon behind him as he undulated out of the igloo. He made his way to a building made of grey bricks. One story tall. Not very wide. The only way in or out of the farm that didn’t involve jumping over or digging under the electric fence.
He shut the door of the Martian heat. He put his water melon on the counter. The farmer grabbed a rifle that had been set next to the monitor beside the door. He pressed a button. “What’s your business?” He said. The man on the screen looked up and took off his glasses.
“You remember that CC guy from the ExtraNet?” Lance pressed tapped on his card. The farmer’s card lit up. He pressed the button to activate the intercom again.
“CC? is that you?”
“Why yes.” Still staring up at the camera. He put his shades into his coat pocket. “Would you mind letting me in?” The front doors slid open. Lance stepped out of the heat. Stepped into a rather cozy looking home. You could see all there was to it at a glance but it was a rather pleasant way to live. At the center of the room- the only room - there was a long marble counter. The walls had a few flags draped over them. Antique furniture including a record player. A time long past from a planet opposite his own. A portal into a distant year that did its best to dress up like and even more far away time.
“I heard you were coming out to Mars. I just didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“It’s fine to say it. You thought I’d fly right back to Earth.”
“Or that you’d die on your way to the hotel.” The farmer joked. The joke was that he was telling the truth. He didn’t smile but Lance did. He swung his arms around his old pen pall and hugged him. The rifle still in his hand was pressed between them. Pats on the back.
_______________________________________________________________________________

And so we set about drinking. There’d been so much we’d never seen of each other- so much that could be avoided while sober and so many mistakes that’d never be made when you’re transmissions were often delayed by weeks or months depending on how much junk would float in front of the satellite relays. I wanted to see. I pressed down on the accelerator.

“I’m not one for politics.”
“I remember. It was like pulling teeth just trying to get you to say anything about anything.”
“Yes sir. You know me.”
“But you’ve always had nice things to say about what I wrote. You can’t say you didn’t like what I was writing. You can’t say I don’t know you.” They both looked into each other knowingly.

The bottle became lighter. The sun set. We stood at his counter- pulling at each others teeth with evil questions and disarming compliments.

“Whether it works of not.” The farmer put a hand over his mustache and choked back a cough. He let his throat settle a bit before continuing. “Whether one was works better than the other. It has nothing to do with the real problem. You’ll just stack shit on top of the fundamental fucked up truth of it.”
“Which is?” Lance’s limbs were loose. He somewhat erratically navigated his cup onto the counter and only mostly successfully poured another drink.
“It’s how we conduct ourselves. We set up the rules for the game we’ll play next week. Not laws, not good ideas and bad ideas you put in a book. Violence begets violence. Kids see people being retarded. Absolutely retarded when the’yre young and that become next weeks game. Maybe if more people made it easier for each other.” He stopped short. Tried to think. Emptied his glass into his mouth. “Maybe if this place wasn’t such a spiteful star. If everyone wasn’t an absolute piece of shit, then we’d get somewhere. That’s something you can’t vote on. The fucking president isn’t going to fix that.”

The idea had disrupted my sleep. I was concerned about how little I cared about it. I thought it enviable. Baked in to the physics of all I could, would, had ever- observed. The most unpalatable thing about it was how reductive it was too everything I kept myself busy with. It’s a simple, empty kind of thing. Now that I think about it I haven’t seen that in the wild. Not on Earth or Mars. Everyone was concerned with themselves. I looked up at the stars from the back seat of my car. Lights from the city reflected in the gray clouds that passed between the moons.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Coins clatter against the tray and lights blared next to the slot machine. Blue spot lights drifted over the leopard print rug- blasted through cigar smoke. The room was wide and the ceiling was high. Dry ice made ghostly mist spill around the stripers and arcade cabinets. Low vibrations droned- shook the vodka inside their drinks. Between the dance floor and a wall of nuclear liquors the four of them obnoxiously slurred their words. Serpent seeds splashed into Rheic’s martini. An arm came over his shoulder. A smiling face shouted.
As the bathroom door shut the decibel level decreased. Darren unzipped his fly and began to whistle. Someone turned the knob to the faucet- water sprayed into the sink. Darren’s eye’s became dull as he remembered a ghost. Urine trickled into the urinal. He stood there holding himself long after it stopped. The sound punched back into the bathroom and then the door shut. It was relatively quiet again. He was alone.
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It wasn’t until I got inside the guts of the city that I learned that the beast had been stripped clean long- long ago. In the history of Echo their had been a time- several eras actually where red carpets lined the floors of golden halls. The lion had been eaten, reborn, and then it would decay once more. A cyclic shower of precious metals that turned to sparks when people’s hearts turned sour. At this moment the bones were leaking, the majesty of what had once been is being carried away like ants tearing at a carcass. The monster’s fur is pale- it burns in the heat of the star. The walls are barren, entire buildings devoid of everything but a sleeping vagrant.

Chapter Twelve
LOG OFF

Steam lifted off the keyboard. He pulled his hand away to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He exhaled and leaned back into a tattered and worn computer chair. The room smelled slightly of sulfur but mostly of his own stench. Marek; an egghead of sorts- a soft bellied clicker who’d never found a lock he didn’t love began to spin idly in his chair. The small room blurred slightly as he tried to collect his thoughts in what he’d begun to call “The spin cycle”. A stained tank top that had once been white was now slightly yellow caught the wind of several fans that’d been place around him. The garment hung loosely of the seams of his metal ribcage, the dirty fabric caught the spittle that ran about of a port that drained the waste from a tube he’d had installed just below his neck. A pudgy faced fellow with flabby arms and pale skin.
Only the dimmest of natural light came through the windows that he’d long ago taped down with stray pages from discarded newspapers. The headlines glowed softly now that it was half past noon. A knocking on his door, a specific rhythm- a signal from his employer. Marek undid the bolt, undid the chain, turned the lock in reverse and undid the other bolt. The knob turned and Marek recoiled at the light. A hole in the concrete made a painful halo around the bearded face of an old man with sharp rotten teeth. Keys tilted atop of each other, suspended on strings woven into a patchwork coat made from a variety of burlap cloth and washed out cowls that had found their way into the tapestry from god knows where.
Marek groaned. “You wanted this today?” He grabbed a green slab of circuits off a filing cabinet beside the doorway and held it up clumsily. The old mans slight, polite smile turned into a stoic flat line beneath his gnarled mustache.
“I’ll take it if you can’t find a use for it. I didn’t come here to take it back. No, I wanted to ask what you can explain about the thing.” The egghead let the object fall softly into the old mans chest. It made the keys chime slightly before a vainy weathered hand caught the thing.
“It was a part of a switchboard. Probably controlled the air conditioning.”
“That’s all?”
“Most of it was washed away. Most of that stuff is like that.”
“Right. I’ll be back next week.” The old man sluggishly made his way down the stairwell. Marek closed the door. Fans spun in the dark. He took a moment to smell the hour. Marek grabbed a grey T-shirt and slipped it over the sweat and bile he’d been wearing. He caught up with the old man just as he’d made it into the street in front of his hovel.
“So where too next?” Marek placed a hand atop a pile of keys and squeezed. A weathered old hand batted Marek’s hand from his shoulder. The old man cocked his eye brow.
“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere in particular.”
“Would you like to tag along with me? I need to go to the augmentation station.”
“I’m not hurting for company. Just be ready next week.” The old man kept walking in the opposite direction of the augmentation markets. Marek noticed a few new bits of graphite had been written across the street since he’d last been out. He took a moment to stretch. Piles of sand came undone bit by bit beside the gutters. Slight winds blew at the side of his neck, the sun glimmered straight down onto him. Shadows barely existed in this hour. In this hour Echo City had no where to hide- every bit of it- nothing was obscured. He followed the highway suspended above the buildings, aiming to keep in its shade as he walked to the market. He contemplated replacing his chassis or if he should just get it tuned up. Thought fearfully about the next part that would break down and if he should replace it with Neo-Skin or titanium.
A soccer ball rolled out of an alley and Marek kicked it back in almost instinctively. As he got closer to the bizarre more and more street venders could be seen. Mercs and security stood imposing postured against the cider block walls beside honest people selling fruits and vegetables- stolen and artificial. It was a symbiotic relationship; read a movie poster above one of the big guys. A train obnoxiously screeched to a halt a few blocks over. As the crowds got bigger Marek noticed more and more how much his smell offended them but he wasn’t offended in turn. He understood perfectly well that he smelled like a rotting corpse. Soon enough, with luck he’d hoped to fix that.
Past a chain link gate laden with plastic bags and paper cups stuck in-between the wire, past a few more gates with a few big guys both augmented and pumped up. Beyond the sheen and glimmer that toped the black metal of chrome rifles- the narrow streets opened to a mess of tarps. Cables and cords dangled from shelves, jewel cases with ornate or high end limbs. Some were selling fingers, some were selling software. A great many things were for purchase not all of which were cybernetic in nature but that was the specialty in this quarter of the square. Potpourri and perfumes danced about the air a measure taken to offset the odor from customers, the irony of it being the more who’d gather the less anyone would want to be there. So it was that long since the practice had taken root that employees would walk about with a thurible or other such censers to dispel the smells.
Men in long white coats went too and froe. Medium sized metal crates sealed with orange tape pilled onto carts that dispensed of the constant stream of medical waste slowly pushed through the crowds. The place was packed elbow to elbow. Haggling over prices here, clapping for attention there- it was all very loud and unpleasant for people like Marek. As eggheads on Mars tended to be the sort displease with everything in Echo City, for that reason he would usually find a discount. Most of the learned people on the planet were second generation or descended from an even older lineage of Martians, these were the people who’s fathers had saved each other from annihilation in primordial times and such bonds went on and on.
That’s not to say that the red rock wasn’t home to feuds and long rot rivalries. Mars knew how to hate. It’d once been the most accurate and potent descriptor of the planet, hate was. So much so that a city not to far from away had been named just such a thing in its honor. Marek saw new bloods enamored with death dispensers and gaudy paint jobs, you could pick them out without much effort. He didn’t waste a breath to scoff at them, you’d never breath in if you did as much for everything that disserved it. Everything had its purpose or it would one day be made to have its purpose. There was no difference in how you felt about it or at least Marek thought as much.
A screen full of broken pixels lung crooked from a pole displayed a weather warning. Sand storms tomorrow. The screen then cycled through a list of bounties and a yellow light flashed faintly from a small bulb beside it. Some of the big guys held up their Com-Cards to collect on heads they’d taken and others did the same to be transferred details on targets. Marek expertly wove his way around the clammier and approached one of the tarps. He ducked his head below and popped back up to see a short line under the tent. He recognized a few of the regulars waiting to be seen by the doc behind the counter. Plastic gloves tapped a pencil against a clipboard. The doctor look over at Marek and pointed the pencil at him knowingly before going back to bargaining with an amputee.
Marek waited patiently in a steel chair, look up at the minimalist décor of the tent clinic momentarily at points but mostly he’d look down at distractions that’d slide down his screen. The time came when the last of them would walk out- fidgeting and flexing their new parts as they went. The doc pulled a big silver crate bound with orange tape and waddled toward a cart parked out front while he tried to mange it’s weight. Marek stood up and went to help the other man lift the thing. When he did so he’d drip a few drops onto the top of the metal box. The doc looked at him with embarrassment and Marek did the same.
“Thanks.” Said the doc from behind a thick cloth faceted to his face.
“Yeah sorry about that.”
“No. No. It’s all right.” The doc put his hands in his coat pocket. “New parts?”
“Just make the old one’s stop leaking.”
“Very well. This way.” The doc gestured to the back room with a shifting of his shoulders.
The operating area smelled like tangerine ashes and antiseptic. He rolled onto the white paper. The table bent a bit as his heavy oozing chest settled in under the large magnetic disk above him. The doc walked in- straight and fast, placed a silver briefcase on the counter. A halo circled the docs head as he stared down at him, scalpel in hand. The doc said something muffled behind a blue plastic cloth. Surgical gloves ran over a selection of vials of varying colors. A muffled voice reassured him again. A vile of pink liquid was plugged into the hole next to Marek’s collar bone. A fluffy sleep like electricity began to over take him. The doc looked down at his watch.
Marek’s eye sight began to blur slightly as it did a clattering could be heard. A soft thunk and a heavy slam. The doctor above him had been deleted in all but three seconds. Marek tried to move. Confused and useless. Something metal went up and back down in his peripheral vision. Brutality in repetition. Marek found his muscles missing in action. His motor functions lessening by the moment. Like the groan someone makes in sleep he yelled “No! Get off me! Help!” but all it would amount to was the whimpering and moans one would make during a nightmare. Tangerine electricity flickered and Marek fell to sleep forever- upset, confused and comfortable.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Appearances were never deceiving where I came from. Most couldn’t have cared less. When I see a swan in a crowd of ducks I wait for it to cluck. Full body conversion are common. Once I dived deep into the depths. I was swimmer down by the Echo tower. It was a primordial pool that wriggled with life. Amongst the tall concrete and steel- A coral reef of ears and silicon widgets I floated like a jellyfish. An unassuming man prone to people watching and always away of the charge in the magnet under my jacket. I was passing by a dark alley- I’d seen two men- heard them first. They were giving her trouble and it was going to get worse. A thin thing, looked like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Then the sprockets in her arms started fuming. She ripped them apart.
I found myself vomiting later. I looked into the lumpy bowl of bile and shivered as I saw my reflection. Anyone could be an angler fish. You can’t judge a book by it’s cover. You can spit on the world, puke all over it for not being perfect. You can paint the town red, just absolutely plaster it with viscera. This is just what it is. Try not to die.

Chapter Thirteen
Laser Beam Breeding

In the city of Xanadu, east of Echo. Parked half on the sidewalk with a newspaper laying over his face- Lance slept peacefully. The sun had just begun to peek through the black pipe chimneys. A discarded piece of card board tumbled about on the breath of the wind until it settled against one of the hubcaps of Lance’s convertible. There was a meek tapping on his window. A street woman knocked on the glass. Lance stirred in his reclined seat. Managed to groan a bit. The woman left a minute later.
Soon the sun began to beat into his car. This was something Lance couldn’t ignore. He tried. His eyes opened like heavy shutters- with great effort and a yawn. Open for business. A stiff neck and morning breath. He felt a bit weak. His stomach full of regret. Off brand nachos and two shots of whisky brewed between the blood in his guts. He pissed against a wall across the street and grabbed a tooth brush from his glove box. He rolled up his window after spitting out mouth wash onto the pavement. A street light shook in the breeze.
The hologram above the dashboard said he had a few messages from earth. He read through a few. Some of them he knew in name alone and others he’d heard and squawked with through the wires. Lots of guy’s who’d been tragically afflicted with a kind of shellshock from staying in doors since the age of four. They’d been called many things over the years. Barely a minority but odd all the same since they’d been the only company worth keeping inside the wires- as far as Lance had been concerned. Dead box. WoestAin. Mouthman977.
Later in the day he’d take the time to tell them all about the alien ways of this other world. Later. He thought. Then he had a wordless idea. He turned the key and began a soft role through Xanadu and scanned the streets for coffee. He passed a Laundromat and stopped to smell his shirt. He passed a few well built coffee colored women and smelt his breath inside his left hand. He saw a few missionaries with their big books and pressed shirt and looked up at the sky. A slight feeling of irony. Rhombus shaped, tiny, silver coins hit a counter made of corkboard. He pressed the white cup against his lips. A few drips fell on his jacket as he recoiled from the scalding liquid he’d put on his tongue.
Xanadu was more grey and less frantic. Pluses and minuses. The people seemed more down beat from what he could tell. Less addicted and more sedated. One was jazz the other was the blues. He dipped a doughnut into the cup. The wind punched against his leather jacket and pulled at his hair. Well now what the shit is that? He’d asked himself. There amongst the bodies solemnly herding themselves from one end of the crosswalk to the other was man who stood nine feet tall, clad in bronze circulates and bangles with an orange cloak draped across one shoulder. His crane like neck topped off with a gaunt face swung in an alternating bob beside the sapphire crown on a staff he held to stabilize his enormous frame, his head shaved, his ribs showing. The tall man who was so tall that he might not have been able to move against the gravity if not for that long staff- a staff of oaken color which ended in a strange series of loops and blue chrome feathers which dangled and chimed against each other from faint spindly wires which could only been traced when they reflected the light.
The oddity’s massive stride abruptly stopped short just before he was to pass by Lance. The sun bounced off his sunglasses as he tapped his doughnut against the side of his cup. Looking up at the strange being, the strange being looking straight back down out him- Lance said. “What are you?”
“A sure-way.” The creatures thin lips parted and a deep voice dropped out of it’s large, flat teeth. Lance, still looking upward found the creases in his forehead start to deepen and at the same time his lips parted. He’d looked for words but found none. The tall creature blinked slowly and after a pair of seconds the dark rings around it’s eyes parted open it said “A monk. A priest.”
“Do you all? Well. You know?” Lance sipped his coffee. “Why?”
“Follow me.” The sure-way started to walk. The priest’s strange gangling legs making quick work of the distance to the next corner of the street. Lance didn’t follow the monk, instead he finished his breakfast at a comfortable pace. He stood against that wall for the better part of an hour. People watching. Thinking. Revising things he’d write before he’d written them. Lance thought over how much he appreciated how neatly the signs hung above the shops in this city compare to those in Echo. He pondered just how to put it.
In his time on this other globe he’d watched enough to spot who was native and who’d just arrived. Those born in the smog gave it little mind while Terrans often couldn’t bring their lungs out into the dust if they didn’t have an assisted breath device of some sort. If they weren’t clad with a big plastic muzzle then you might be able to tell by the way the walked or the contempt in their eyes. Some would invariably have the idea that they’d been wronged, that something had been taken from them and Mars had punished them enough for a single murder or manslaughter. Soft and juvenile- spoiled and vicious. It’d been observations such as these that’d made Lance pat himself on the back for leaving earth.
He didn’t feel much shame for being a Terran. A personal truth that he’d never found sufficient evidence to even partially reconsider was his ideas on human nature. Lance had know well enough that people when in a state of rest became stilted blobs more often than not. He’d been an avid amateur enthusiast of history for as long as he could remember- or at least he’d been a fan of the history he could find. To that end Lance and Marquis had become good friends through the net. The fact of it was that Marquis had never really cared for the stories Lance penned. There were weeks and months between their transmission depending on how much debris got between the relays in the space that occupied the distance for this planet and the next but their friendship had flourished all the same.
Sometimes that’s all you need the Author thought to himself. Laundry dangled above a few air conditioning units- both suspended outward from cheap and efficient grey ledges. Graphitt: PSSSt. Some letters to which he couldn’t decipher beside it. A massive satellite dish atop a street pole. Somewhere in the distance a rocket broke the sound barrier. A few blocks over a poster depicting a blind musician bent over a piano had been taped to the wall next to some concrete steps that cut down into the bottom of a seven story building. A sign out front listed which drinks were half price. It was midday and he didn’t expect a crowd. The place wasn’t full but there were day drinkers than he’d hoped for.
It was the kind of bar that had a red painted floor, it pretended to have a carpet and it pretended the walls were made of wood. That’s a nice touch, he thought as he took notice of the green and purple stain glass that encircled the light bulbs in the chandler. He’d felt that such a thing paired well with the blue burning in the tube behind the counter- behind the counter it blinked the name of some brand of liquor he’d never cared for. Billiard balls smacked against each other. Eight dudes stood around the pool table- making bets. One of them glanced over toward the door as he folded a few dollars under the zipper of his chest pocket.
Lance found his ankles balancing precariously against the legs of a bar stool. He shifted and twisted about, calm but cautious he put his elbow against the counter searching for something certain. A plastic arm reached for a rag and the clank of empty beer bottles sliding down into slot beside the register. Lance forced his shoulders to settle back into place and pulled his neck closer to the ceiling. He put four red coins on the counter. Billiard balls collided in the corner.
“What’s you’re poison brother?” The bar keep had a weathered leather kind of complexion. Skin seared by the sun and hidden behind large blue metal sunglasses. A bulky waterlogged frame that puffed out where the skin was real, replacement limbs- slender and reflective hung off nubs of fat and muscle.
“Beer.” The sweat on Lance’s upper lip froze as the air conditioning kicked out of the vent. “The cheapest thing or the second cheapest.”
“You’re the man.” A bottle with a green label went up onto the counter.
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“These things love CO2 but they hate violet light.” Heat signatures formed a picture. A strange feathered looking thing was groping at the sides of a glass case with its blooming claws. “I thought maybe we could kill the day. I thought about that for a while.” The old man leaned in closer. Rheic plugged his nose as a rotten smell wafted over sharp uneven teeth. The old mans words filled the tent with moist heat. “In the end I figured it wasn’t worth it.” He shined a red dot on the thing with a laser pen. It’s blooming claws retracted and it’s feathers curled around itself. It rolled over into the fetal position- or took a shape as close to the fetal position as was relatively possible.
In a dull voice Rheic asked “Can they live underground?”
“They could with enough tinkering. If I had the right equipment. If I knew what I was doing. As it stands I’m using a very primitive method. It’s like dog breeding.” He flashed the laser a few more times and the thing rolled over. Died. He unzipped the tent. Marquis and Rheic stepped out and removed their goggles. They were standing in one of the old mans personal labs. Every other room in the building was used for some kind of entrepreneurial venture- farfetched or other wise. It’s what Marquis did. An entire life time of throwing darts at the wall and seeing what stuck. It just so happened that the old man was rather good at darts.
The walls of the room were painted a cheap shade of white and lined with beakers and clear plastic tubes that had been grouped together and hung onto small hooks built into some of the shelves. A singular computer made a ticking sound beside the tent, its screen blinked as it cycled through different readings. Temperature data. Line graphs. Marquis took off his lab coat and exchanged it for the patchwork rag of keys on the rack beside the door. It sunk onto him and suppressed the folds of his white dress shirt which wasn’t often seen. It seemed rather heavy, the clear outline of a pocket watch could be seen over his left breast. “I’d say you’ve got all the makings of an egghead.” Said Marquis to Rheic. “Consider it.” Rheic nodded absently. He took a moment to admire the white cloth before hanging it back up.
Two knocks on the door. Lance greeted the old man with “Don’t ask.” He’d appeared before them with a nasty bruise around his left eye. “Here.” Lance held out a small metal box sealed with orange tape. The old man took it with a grateful bow of his head. Lance turned on his heel and made his way up the stairs to his room. Just as Rheic made it to the start of the rickety stair case, fully intended to retreat to his own abode to enjoy a moment with his lungs in solitude- Casey entered the picture- the door cashed against its hinges. The street lamp shined over Casey’s shoulder, a few of his band mates and their respective lovers stood just outside chanting about cheap alcohol and tossing playful insults this way and that.
Casey grabbed Rheic by the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Roof time!” He yelled as he spun his friend about. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” He pulled him out into the Martian night. The group of them made drunken strides and slurred loudly. It all smelled of dried bleach. They puked sunlight onto the side of the road. Bumbling in the alleys. Tripping up the fire escape. A drunken moon with its face all lopsided took on the red shine from the other side of the planet. A poison moon. A rotting satellite.
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In that same evening two men cursed with a sort of semi-insomnia- plagued with misguided ambitions which often by stokes of pure luck and very rarely by small dins of genius had found some success. The two of them had failed many times, a quantity over quality type of mentality. It was for that reason and almost exclusively because of that reason they’d grown to respect each other for that singular trait. Lance leaned against the refrigerator in the old mans kitchen. “I just hate everything she writes. I hate how she writes it.” He put his hands inside his coat pockets. “You’d understand if you read it. Not that you should. It’s shit. Why do people like to read shit?”
“See. That’s the only time I ever read stories.”
“Sorry what?”
“When I’m on the toilet.”
“Oh.”
“What do you think the split is? Has the media.” He paused. Tapped his boot against the ground. “Movies and entertainment type media not the news.” He coughed. “Built up more of an appreciation for individual rights and a respect for ones own will apart from the collective.” He cleared his throat. “Or does good art innately make us more complacent?”
“I don’t think it’s wrong to write books Lance.” The old man leaned on his cane. The lights flickered.
“I don’t think that’s what she meant by it.”
“Well if she did then you can take solace in the fact there’s not a lot of readers on Mars.”
“There’s less on earth.”
“True enough.” The old man reached for a cup of tea that’d been steaming beside him for a good ten minutes. It took quick and cautious sips to make sure it wasn’t going to burn his tongue.
“Maybe it instills the values well enough but makes us less likely to lift a finger to act on them. I feel its a bit of both, but I want to think about the nuance.”
“You should write about it yourself. I’m sure someone will find it entertaining.”
“Honestly I'd sacrifice the whole world if it meant there would be zero art but actually function in harmony. Luckily its not like that.”
“It’s not?”
“Is it’s irrelevant.” Lance grabbed his own cup of tea off the counter beside him. “Maybe it’s enough that people go to sleep with a full stomach.”
“Oh I don’t like that kind of talk. You still don’t know what that’s like. Don’t get me wrong I hate that planet.” Sip. “You’re planet.” He clarified. “It’s not so simple though. The problem is that questions are rarely asked on earth. You needed more questions not less words.”
“What do you know about it? How did it get like that?”
“You know well enough. As much as I know. We used to get a lot of revolutionaries. Earth shot them at us, thousands by the hour back when my hair wasn’t so grey and my teeth were white. If you can even imagine me that way.” He sighed. “People with stupid ideas, minds worms. Spoiled children. Some were on the level, met a lot of great guys who died in very terrible ways. Some went over to the far side past Hate and prayed to the emperor. Made themselves sluts before that moon of his. We should have nipped it in the bud.”
“You think Earth will ever change? You think Mars will ever change?”
“I have more hope for one than the other.” Sip. Sip.

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The moons are ugly things. Lumpy, sad looking. The shadows in the craters make it look like one of them is moaning in remorse. That one looks like its crying. The other looks like it’s frightened. A scream loaded up to the gills with shock and terror blasts from every other dark corner of the red light district. You can almost hear the blood running down the blade. Marvin the Ripper. Just killers with cute names and quiet murders that never hit the screens. It’s all the same. Every bit of stone has been stained by now. Mars is red. It’s red for a reason.

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Chapter Fourteen
Down a drain

“Get him! Kill him!” Casey hollered at the fighters. He was rooting for no one in particular. He just wanted to see more action. He smacked at the walls of the steel cage. “Make him bleed!” Chester grabbed the hotdog he’d been holding from one end and tossed it over the stage lights. The wiener seesawed off the a camera that was suspended over the arena and flopped onto one of the brawler’s nose. A fist bit at both. Blood- Ketchup. Loud cheering. Some gruff looking men started pointing at Chester. They made their way through the crowd, fully intending to kill the both of them.
Casey grabbed his friend by his shirt and pulled him up the stairs. They ran past a man selling hotdogs, They ran into a hallway that led to other attractions the venue was hosting. Chester took off like a gazelle. Big prints advertising next weeks fights- done up like old movie posters. Water damage on the ceiling. The two men weren’t far behind. Casey looked at the trash can and wondered if he could fit inside.
Casey ducked into the bathroom. Chester kept running through the hall, angry bookies in pursuit. He heard two people sucking face in the stall closest to the door. He heard the fight bell ding. Cautiously he checked to see if there was an empty stall. When he saw that their was he went and took out his seeds from the inside of his right sock. He sat on the toilet. Pushed and pulled on the door after he locked it to make sure it was sealed. Without any effort nor even a wince he shoved the hard pea like drug down into his throat. He felt around his wind pipe. He made doubly sure to get it inside the lungs. He wasn’t the wasteful sort.
He pulled out his hand. It was covered in a sticky sickly yellow liquid. He pulled the gum he’d been chewing off his wisdom teeth. He sat back and got ready to let the waves crash over him. The couple in the other stall began to reach their climaxes. Moaning. Both voices sounded female. There was no way to tell if either of them had been. Casey’s chest swelled and then collapsed in rapid nervous, twitchy breaths as his body tried to navigate the feeling of pure ecstasy.
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“Get lost broad.” A glass of scotch shot in black and white.
“They’re going to kill you Ricky.” She started to cry. Tragic jazz started to play as her tears fell like glistening pearls. “Can’t we just pack up and leave? Ricky please!” A slap. Saxophone.
Ghostly shades of gray drifted over the audience. Someone in the back of the theater coughed. Beside Rheic a man in a tall fur hat slurped a soda. The man’s eyes were an empty blue. He’d sat next to him many times. They’d never said a word to each other. The film was unevenly developed. Some frames jittered away from the center of the screen. Rheic would wonder if this was intentional but ultimately would forget this question he’d asked himself. He’d thought that very same thought sixty times over and forgotten it just as many. The man in the fur hat shoveled pop corn into his maw.
“Sometimes there’s just thing you gotta’ do. I love you Cheryl. Wish I could give you what you deserve.”
“You’ll get what you deserve Ricky. I won’t be here when you get it but you’ll get it all the same.”
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The seasons changed but the temperature stayed the same. I’d taken a victory lap around the whole place. I’d indulged, danced, sat in the park. In front of the capital. Under the great tower- there’s a statue of a priest. A statue of a king. Know one knows which. I figure its both. I think about all the stories I could write to fill in the gaps. I get lost in the idea of lying about it’s origins. This and many other thoughts will evaporate in the Martian heat. Day after day we sweat out ideas. I’ve be acclimated to it.

_______________________________________________________________________________
“You think the Corpos will stick around, Remis? If we do that? They’ll go to Xanadu or worse they’ll work with the emperor in Far-Side.”
“Lawlessness. That’s what he’s asking for people.” The pale man looked into the lens of the camera.
“We have more than enough. Corps pay for the freedom we give them. Corps paid me. I’m not going to lie about it. Where does that money go? You’re looking at it. This stage, the road way and the citizens of Echo don’t have Earthling blood suckers taking a single dime out of their kids breakfast bowl. Where’s your money go? Huh? Answer Remis.”
Beers clinked against each other in front of the monitor. Winston and Big ears had a bad habit of watching these streams in public. While annoyed the rest of The Pleasured Dead tolerated their hobby. The floor around them was littered with broken glass. It snapped under Casey’s boots as he walked around a stack of amplifier. Casey pulled a glass tube with a glowing coil out of a back pack. “Ok when I say turn the power back on.” His girl. Bubble gum. She stood waiting for his signal next to a fuse box.
“Charity can only go so far. People don’t give blindly, ask a butcher to give a Sure-Way a dime. It’s feudalism.”
“A child interpretation of the mater if there ever was one.” The words came out of thick smoke. They were both sweating.
“Ok now babe.” Casey smacked the side of the amplifier.
“How rude.”
“Stick to the facts.”
“Success!”
“Imagine you’re a Terran. You get off the ship and you know no one. No ones got you’re back. There no justice for us.” The pale man looked into the camera. “We can’t afford to be heartless. We can’t aff-” The screen went dead.
“Hey we were watching that!” Winston looked over at Casey with a pathetic pout. Casey pushed a bass guitar into Chester’s hands. Smacked Winston softly on the back of the head.
“Play.”
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“Why didn’t you invite me to you’re wedding?” Lance had driven home drunk to find all he knew was absent from the building. The old man was gone, the young men were gone. His best man was no where to be seen. The other tenants were sleeping or being quiet, most likely they were looking down into their Com-Cards with headphones that shut out the obnoxious sounds of the city. He’d thought of knocking on one of the doors while holding two cups and a bottle of whisky. Then he thought it was best not to.
“We didn’t have a wedding.”
“What?! That doesn’t make sense.”
“Listen Lance I’m really very busy right now. We’ll catch up later.” The communications were cut. Lance rolled over on the floor. A first edition signed copy dug into his left rib. He took the thing and through it across the room. Too drunk to write. Too drunk to sleep. Some nights the only thing you’ll sleep next to is defeat. He felt his heart beat in his head until the sun crept over the horizon. He’d wake to night again the next day.
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And I was an island. From the time I was born and ever after I met you. I was never part of it but I found that orbiting such things was comforting. In days where I nary get to say a word I still feel closer to something. It’s a benefit of being in a city that’s truly alive. It’s a shame the more there is, the more danger you’ll find. You can survive better alone, in a dead city. A place where nothing wants to kill you because no one knows you’re there.

Chapter Fifthteen
Luxurious River Styx

Both moons reflected in the toxic abyss. Wave’s lapped at the side of the Yacht. The S.S. Harmonic, a commercial cruiser, a diamond dingy that hadn’t seen much use since Echo came under new management. What was once used to skirt laws against gambling, consumption and five other sins found itself rusting once such sins were deemed permissible. The president looked out at the skyline, he held onto the railing as gales of rotten wind swayed his pony tail away from the back of his collar. He leaned forward, letting his elbows rest upon the slightly corroded bar. Creases began to form near his brow. His pointy nose flared in discontent as a faint grimace crept across his face.
The press made up half of the passengers. Politicos and people in want of favors were also aboard the boat. Many people stood next to favorable light, everyone looked proper and groomed- smiles. It was a strange, almost laughable how many had not only accepted the invitation but pretended the occasion to be glamorous. The sea smelled like garbage. It had smelt this way since time and memorial. The president questioned his own motivations. He’d felt that he shouldn’t have come here. He’d still felt that way- felt sea sick. An intrusive little voice kept nipping at the back of his mind. His intuition pulled at the nerves in his stomach.
“Look at our city.” A man holding a bubbling glass of white wine walked up beside him. “Such a beautiful place from a distance. Wouldn’t you say?”
“It sure looks good in photographs.” He struck a match. Inhaled deeply.
“Those will kill you. You know that.”
“Their term limits.” An odd smile. Another man dressed less to impress and more to blend in approached the two of them. He bowed to the lobbyist and saluted the politician.
“You presence is requested in the captains quarters.”
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“I fucking hate suits.” Marquis was standing in front of a tall mirror fiddling with a red ribbon around his neck. For the first time in over a decade his patchwork coat was absent from his shoulders. He was sporting a pair of shoulder straps and a silk emerald colored dress shirt. His gut protruded, his back was hunched.
“Having trouble.” The president waltzed over to him. Started to unto the bizarre knot the old man had made out of the bowtie.
“I don’t know why you want to use this old tub. The thing is cursed. What’s more it’s you who owes me a favor. Several in fact.”
“Add it on to my tab.” Farewell smirked. Tugged on the ends of the bow tie. “There.”
“I can fix the ocean for you.”
“You’ve said as much before.”
“Come now John.”
“I can’t go betting on your projects now, not when there’s so much else that needs to be done.”
Marquis sat on the bed. He put his hands on his knees and stared blankly at the president. Farewell lit another cigarette. “You look older ever time I see you.” Said Marquis. “A lot older. When are you going to step down? At this rate you’ll croak before I do. You look like shit man.”
“I’m sick of babysitting Earthlings. That’s my primary concern. People want to blame pop, blame sex. They should be blaming the psychos that earth mainlines into our space port. It‘s enough to make your hair go white.”
“Say that in public John. It’s only half the voters.”
“Shut up.” The president bit his lip. “Don’t you dare fucking black mail me.”
“It’s on the house. You still owe me for everything else. I can’t guarantee this ship won’t sink. I warned you.”
“You know I don’t like this all that much either.”
“So why are we here?”
Farewell turned toward the door. “You’re not the only one with a ‘I owe you’.” He picked up a glass of wine on the table. Sipped it. The ember on the end of his bad habit sizzled out inside the blood red spirit. “Let’s get out there.”
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The two of them stood amongst plates of hors d’oeuvres, pioneers and entrepreneurs. “He doesn’t want law he want his own personal army. Who would they be beholden too? He wants to get you to pay for his goons.” Farewell tightened his pony tail and continued “Protection money. That’s what he’s thinking when he says that word. He’ll protect you from him and in exchange you’ll serve him.” He emphasized every other word. “You’ll serve him the way he want you too. He wants to be in your bed room, want a cut off the top of everything you do. He’ll switch on the cameras and charge you with indecency every time you use the toilet.” The reporter was trying very hard to keep it together. John took the mike in his hand. “It’s happened before. It’ll happen again.”
With that the president walked over to a stage that’d been built onto the nose of the ship. Marquis stayed behind the velvet ropes amongst the press and the patrons. The lion on the flag roared as it blew in the wind. The skyline behind him twinkled like jewels- like stars that had gather from the sky and rested on the surface of the planet just to observe this momentous occasion. As expensive flecks of gold celebrated in the hands of Echo’s most valuable people “President Farewell. President Farewell.” Reporters repeated incessantly. Jumping over each other to be seen.
Harsh sounds at a very high decibel level. A sort of white noise that flew in from the east and progressively got louder. The black suits that had been blending in with the crowd suddenly took defensive and offensive positions with their weapons drawn. The reporters looked about in panic or with a confused, stupid, curios. A bright light flashed open under the hovering blades of a helicopter. It illuminated an island of dead bodies that turned clockwise in the water. A grotesque, buoyant, barge of human effluence. A lump in a puddle of red gore. A scab that’d been ripped and torn and rotted over. The bodies preserved by the bleach in the water table, mummified by sandstorms and industrial waste.
The cameras were rolling. President Farewell live and unedited. Immediately he understood who and why. A switch flipped in his mind and the nerves in his stomach stopped sending the signals that made for the uneasy seasick feeling he’d had before- in it’s place a violent electricity of rage began to ride into his every pour. Before he could act on this emotions- just as his mouth began to open- someone from within the crowd ran at him. He was tackled into the water. Into the rot. On the televisions and the Com-Cards- an aerial shot of Farewell splashing about amongst the dead. Morbid. He grasped at the pile, sludge that had once been skin and fat fell away.
He could not swim.
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Chapter Sixteen

Teeth

His foot came up slightly off the ground. The wind up. The pitch. Glass against concrete. The others cheered. Casey whipped another empty bottle against the concrete wall. Rheic watched two of them place dice beside his shoe laces. He got comfortable against the guard rail. Looked up and sighed. Another batch of glass shattered onto the pile. Primal cheering. “You smell like tacos.” Blondie said. God its so hot during the day. Why do we even bother coming out when the sun is up. “Hey? Did you hear me? Hello? You there?”
It was then Rheic turned and marched away from it all. Shadows leaked onto graphite and dumpsters. The shade in the narrow alley was refreshing and apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d thought as much. A man with a truckers hat tipped over his nose snored loudly as Rheic sluggishly made his way past. His Com-Card beeped. Rheic let it drop from his pocket and snap against the pavement. He kept walking. It’s too hot.
He went underground. Loitered in the metro, trying to get as close to the air conditions as he could. The cool air from the vent made the sweat on his neck feel like ice. He closed his eyes in solace and serenity. When he later looked at the map of metro stops, a very confusing looking thing- he’d resolve to go to the martian coast. He thought it odd he’d never been there before. Thought it even stranger that nobody had ever said anything about it. Every day. A perfect day to go to the beach. Up here.
Like one piece of a school of fish Rheic was pushed along by the large crowds. He was spat out from the metro terminal, bounced about like a pin ball trying to find his way to the ocean. The endless forest of steel obelisks gave way to a more open sky and bit by bit the roof tops split apart. The stone streets fell away from the sand and after the last clusters of power lines had been walked under and the last corner was turned Rheic stood before blood red water. Waves crashed. A monochromatic painting. Only slight difference in the shade of cherry delineated the sea from the sky.
Gods tongue moved that water. The throat of Mars. Strange shelled parasites skittered about in slow motion. The crabs look like monsters up here. The beach smelled strange. Smelled like the inside of a box of new electronics. It’s like this place had been vacuum sealed. Fresh but nostalgic at the same time. I want to go in there. Just. Jump in. Enter. The water felt cool as it pooled around his feet. It felt viscous- more than water should. He learned fairly quickly that he couldn’t swim through it. He march into the waves. Found that he didn’t float. Realized why no one made a priority out of the martian coast.
He made it back out. Near death experiences didn’t much phase Rheic at this point. Found a vending machine that dispensed bottles of beer. Had the idea to grab some pens and paper while he was at it. He thought its funny that shops by the sea had a Hawaiian theme about them. He’d seen some people wearing seashell necklaces, bars with cocoa nut logos. Out of everywhere he’d been in this city, all the strange and surreal sets to where the theater of fourth planet played out- the only quiet place he’d seen yet had been the coast. It was abandoned, wholly and completely. Horse shoe crabs. Disgusting creatures. They politely turned over the grains of red dust. They tended to approach if one did not move for to long. Disgusting things- probing their surroundings. Blind and of one mind.
So it was that Rheic found it more convenient to keep walking as he drank his beer. He circled the edge and lost himself in the sound of water. He felt a bit more put together here. It seemed familiar. Home. He got lost while still knowing where he was. The whole day floated away. He wrote a poem. Put it inside an empty bottle and tossed it into the blood. It sank immediately. He turned away from it all and journeyed back to his apartment. In the night his weary feet signaled to his brain that they were in great pain. It went unnoticed. His shoes slammed against the stair case. Some blood found its way onto his shoe laces. He turned the key he’d been given by Marquis. Stumbled down into his bed.
“I barely even know you! Don’t say shit like that to me!” Casey yelled beyond the wall.
“If I was young like you, you know what I’d do?” Darren’s low voice came through a bit more muffled.
“No! I don’t care either! Why are you still hanging about here! Look at that watch!”
They we’re yelling about something Rheic didn’t know or care to know about. This persisted for hours. Exhaustion makes for a good sleep aid though and in his dreams their disagreements became increasingly non-senseical. Faint visions of a wide cup glass cup of whiskey twisted in his dream. Abstract things words can never describe along side those disgusting crab like creatures. An eclipse over the ocean. Then a fever dream that repeats at noisome. We’re going to Mars. We’re going to Mars. Repeat. Slightly different instances and people he barely remembered. They said it over and over until he forced himself to wake. He woke during that extra forty minutes before the sun rise.
He realized the state he was in when he stood up. It was like something had been eating him from the bottom up. His feet stung with every slight contact and tap against the floor. A very incontinent place to be sore. He limped and hopped to the shower in the corner of his open loft. Dark coagulated mess chipped off- flaked off- and crumbled off into the drain. Steam rose as he sighed. Sat down in the hot mist. He moaned and groaned. There was the slight understanding that he’d drank six beers. There was a revelation. He understood in no uncertain terms that he had a sun burn across- well, everything but his legs.
Normally at this time of day he’d have been notified by his Com-Card that things needed to be done. He needed to put on a pink hat. Needed money for cheap drugs which he’d get in large quantities. There was a stack of gold and silver coin on his dresser. He didn’t live cheap all things considered but he’d often forget to eat. There was very little in the room. All his luxuries were able to be enjoyed standing up and with good luck they’d send him to the ground. He’d come to hope as much. He ate socially and slept in narcotics. Nothing to heavy be martian standards. He was still alive.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Rhei!? You in there?” The door open a smidge. Rheic’s tired left eye peered out at Casey.
“Yes.”
“We tried calling you. We went to the Strip-Cade. Winston got so wasted dude.”
“Yeah.”
“You look like shit dude. What happened.”
“I got a sun burn. At.” Rheic closed the door.
“Hey!” Knock. Knock. Knock.
Rheic slept until the moons were out. Slept until his bones rebelled against it. God I hate this. He puked. Bile from an empty stomach. He hugged the toilet. A bird squawked. People ran up and down the stairs. He reached for a cup of water on his night stand. The door opened. Keys clicked against each other as Marquis turned on a flash light. “Uhg. God. What are you doing?” Rheic put a hand in front of his face to hide his eyes from the MAG light.
“You ok kid?”
“Uhg. Y-yeah. Turn that thing off.”
“The walls are thin. Sounds like you’re hating life.”
“I am.” The flash light went dark.
“Well then.” Said Marquis. “Maybe I can help.” The old man flicked the light switch. Rheic groaned.
“Holy shit.” The sheets were stained red around his feet. His ribs were showing. “Jesus Christ Rheic.”
__________________________________________________________________________________

The edge hit the cutting board rapidly. The smell of sliced onions wafted into Rheic’s nose. Boiling water. Slow piano played on vinyl. His pink skin shot dull screams at his brain. He held onto the side of the table- trying not to vomit. That would’ve been a very rude thing to do. Very rude. Marquis shoved a plate of dried fruits in front of tired eyes. “You eat this while the rest cooks.” Ah! Fuck! It stings. “Keep eating.”
“Mark. Where does all the meat come from?” The cutting board. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Some of its synthetic. The more expensive stuff comes from controlled environments.”
“I see.”
“Some of those cows live better than you.”
“Owch. Ah.” He whimpered.
“Did you see my new mirror?”
“No.”
“An antique. Restored of coarse. An antique replica of an antique.”
“Oh.”
“It’ll be a bit before its done. Here I’ll go get it.” Marquis turned on his heel and went into that room of his. He dragged a golden frame through the door way. Set it in front of Rehic. Brushed some dust off one of its corners. Rheic couldn’t help but think Marquis looked an awful lot like santa cluas - all be it a post apocalyptic version of Saint Nick - or Maybe he is. Maybe Santa’s a bum now. All the good boys have everything they could ever ask for. All of us are too shitty to get anything. Bunch of murderers and addicts who will one day be murderers. I don’t know why we paid to get up here. We should’ve just killed somebody. “Look at you Rheic. You look like a pile of shit. See that. That’s you right now.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“No matter. Take a look at this!” The old man flashed his happy cavities. Shined a grin out of his grey beard. The old man set a clear case filled with jewels onto the table and pulled out a chair. His finger waved over the gold and sapphire. “You know who’s teeth these were?” They are teeth. Mostly gold. That’s really mouth bone there. “Martian folk hero. The man known only as Jean-Alexander Wolfeschlegelstein.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”
“Well. Legend has it he made lots of money. Then one day. Legend has it, he died.” Rheic feigned shock and awe. Marquis continued. “And these are his teeth.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Pull!” Winston tossed a bottle of vodka up into the air, as high as he could manage. Casey pulled the trigger. The ammunition crashed out of the barrel and glass rained down between derelict concrete buildings. A squatter shrieked in surprise from the fifth story. “God! I love this thing!” Casey laughed and stomped his feet giddily against the ground. “Pull!” Bubble gum popped as another shot rang out. Casey jumped up and down with joy. She hit send. He turned to her as she blew another bubble. A cut up denem vest and a red head band. A woman Casey believed he loved. Empty eyed, staring at her small screen, and barely aware of her surroundings. “What’s up babe? You want to do something else?”
“I’m good honey.” Pop.
“Oh hey! New gun?” A raspy voice rattled. A mess of uneven, long, black locks ambled toward Casey. A skeletal creature in a formal black shirt pulled a match from his pocket. Applied a flame to a cigarette.
“Fuck yeah man! Check it out! Pull!” Pop!
“Try again!” Yelled Winston as he tossed another bottle toward the fire in the sky. The bottle fell to the ground. Casey spit. Dismayed. He clumsily reloaded the revolver. The man in black spoke up. His ciggarett barely out of his mouth.
“Don’t worry about it Case. I saw the good parts.”
“Right. Well what’s up man? I thought you were a vampire. Why are you out here? What’s banging brother?”
“Well. It’s a bit too noisy to sleep.”
“You live here?”
“Sometimes I do.”
“Shit man I’m sorry.”
“No it’s ok. Case. Can I do something for you? I can’t score. I’m broke.”
_______________________________________________________________________________

Bubble gum popped. A burnt match fell to the ground. The two of them had been tasked with ‘quality assurance’ as they were the kind of people who knew which faces were familiar and kept track of the grudges. It was quite obvious that she’d never be impressed by Casey’s music. She liked something else about him. It was very apparent that he lived only for chemicals, his eyes were red around black. Everyone else was up stair and jumping about. Everyone but the two of them and a bag of leather filled with muscle.
“Hey big guy. Want one?” A heel kicked onto a spent match. The big guy looked down his chest at a skeleton offering full flavor cancer. His thick finger slipped into the pack. He accepted graciously. Wordlessly. Bubble gum popped.
“You going to hang around after you get it?” She said.
“Maybe.”
“You know you don’t have to live like an animal Charley.”
“I guess I could lie to myself.” A skeleton scratched at his ear. Puffed on his cigarette.
“You smell that?” Said the big guy.
_______________________________________________________________________________

The curtains ignited. Gotti outfits tumbled down the stairs. Casey ran for the door but tripped on his patch cord. He promptly unplugged it from his guitar. Held the six string like a baby against his chest. Ran. Jumped over the clogged limbs stampeding down the stair case. Yelling. He shot the gun up into the ceiling. They didn’t move. Jammed up in the exit. Some of the smarter pariahs smashed out the windows. Casey tumbled on jagged shards of clear crystal. Rolled out under the street lamps and the moon light.
“You ok babe!?” She said. Casey looked down. His shirt was turning red.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Casey picked glass out of his chest. Dropped them into an empty cup. His girl dabbed at the wounds with napkins. The waitress came over and refilled his coffee cup. The big guy took conserved sips of his Cuba Libre. He’d resumed his routine- The big guy. Every night he’d find himself her. It was the waitress’s understanding that the silly pokadot curtains and the sugar in his drink made it all worth it. She’d seen Casey turn into a Martian. It didn’t take long. She though somberly- not asking questions but reaffirming what she knew. She guided a wet rag as it circled the counter.
“Pick up the fucking phone Rhei!” Casey barked at his Com-Card. His girl dipped her finger into his chest and kissed the blood off her nail.
“Are you sure you’re going to be ok hun?”
“It’s not that bad is it?”
“I’ve seen worse.” A skeleton rasped.
“No. No, this is good.” Said Casey while clutching a bloody napkin. “This is punk rock. People will be talking about this.”
“You sure?” The skeleton turned in his seat and spoke toward the counter. “Hey chick can I get some Whiskey?” The apron waltzed over and unceremoniously put the glass next to stained napkins. “I’m pretty sure somebody didn’t make it out of there.”
“No. No, this is good. You don’t know that. Even so. That’s punk. Its punk.”
__________________________________________________________________________________

“Rhei!” He slammed. Kick at his locks. “Where the fuck have you been!?” The chain gave way but the room was empty.
“Are you going to pay for that?” Marquis said from behind his back.
“Ok. Where is he?”
“He’s been dragged through the mud. Guy’s been eaten up. Looks like a car crash.”
“What?!”
“Keep your fucking voice down.” The old man hissed. “I’ve got him on antibiotics. He’s on the coach.”
“Anti-robot shit? He get a botched implant?”
“You look like you’ve got a few implants yourself.” The old man looking into the collage of tissues and ripped skin below Casey’s chin.
The old man had a way with words when he needed it. He’d turn it on for some and turn something else on for others. He did convince Casey to sit patiently. Two chairs had been set in the center of the kitchen. The old man poured antiseptic into a gored torso. Casey winced a little.
“If I didn’t do this you’d rot out. The both of you. You’d never notice.” Casey tried not to wince again as tweezers lifted his flesh and the old man fished for glass. “I know it doesn’t come naturally but you’ve got to start thinking about this.”
“Not a bad idea.” Strained his voice gave way to pain.
“Ok. Now lift your head back. Good. Now close your eyes. Open your mouth.” A metal tube was shoved into his throat. A noxious plastic vapor bubbled out of his nose before it began to pressurize. His eyes opened with anxiety and fear. A moment later the sound of his throat pulling against the suction crescendo’d to a comical noise. Casey struck at his surroundings and grabbed at his throat.
“You see this.” Marquis bent down and snapped a finger at him as Casey curled up in a ball. There was a vile of branches and pedals. He shook the cartridge of leaves. Casey just rolled about in agony.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

What’s worse? Getting old or how you get there? I talked to a Sure-way about this once. “Every moment spent away from the path is a moment spent in hell. Every step outside the path is a step upon you’re fellow man. We make hell, both for ourselves and others.” Long necks always find a way to evangelize. I once asked the same priest what time it was and he told me to consult verse 4 of that gobbledygook book.
Try not to get evil. I double dog dare you.

Chapter Seventeen
ABZU

Smog ran along the horizon. The sun cut into a ragged flag- twisting on a pole. The rays of polluted yellow heat dropped on Ron’s face sporadically. He turned under the covers and let his pale green eyes meet the day. He’d look down at the cross walks from a point parallel to the flag pole. A thousand people would occupy the space below his home at any given moment. Transient folk. Visitors, some of which he’d named. Over the coarse of a decade he’d been able to pick out certain ones who’d show up a certain times. Clock work people. Ron himself was one such a person. The screen on his nightstand said it was six thirty three AM. So with a stretch and a yawn he went to wash up.
He put on an air tight white suite, the kind which came with bulbous gray gloves with the texture of tire treads and other indents meant for maximum traction. Ron loaded a clip of magnetic rounds into an ugly white rectangle with a trigger and slipped the thing into his shoulder holster. He held the bulbous grey helmet by his side as he made his way to the metro. On the train he’d sit next to another salvager. They’d talk about entertainment and food. The morning switching places with the underworld in regular intervals as the train went above buildings and looped beside the highway and then diving down into the underground stops. Some passengers wore bullet proof everything, some wore nothing but a thin pink dress. Ron checked on a slab of egg flavored sponge. He put on his helmet and left the train, filed out in a line with the other salvagers.
The dozen of them chatted through thick charcoal laced re-inhalers as they descended a few staircases in the Nine-Metro. They switched on their head lamps as the sound of the city grew dim. Soon it was just their voices and the occasional drip that echoed.
“Hey Ron, you hear that Nami has a new album?”
“She’s got the voice of an angle.”
“Nice canisters too.” The most rotund scavenger said. They’d turned a dozen corners and strode through a dozen dark corridors, descended layer by layer into more ancient and more forgotten subterranean sectors of the city. Eventually they’d see sparks in the distance- embers that splashed off a welding torch. They’d approached other members of the company were standing in small groupings in what was once the a metro station in Old Echo. Five or Four gathered next to tents housing temporary restoration labs. Flood lights cast long shadows, everything stood half in darkness. Barrels of oil squeezed from broken gears. Sparks flying off things they’d melt open or burn back together. Another man in a bulbous white helmet turned a wrench over a bolt. A supervisor with a digital clipboard walked up to Ron and the rest of the group.
“Ron Wallark? Company G?”
“Yes.” Ron said while motioning with his left hands toward the others.
“You’ll be descending in twenty minutes. Just reconnaissance. Take note of anything valuable and grab anything you can bring up on the rope.” A yellow square started to glow inside Ron’s helmet.
“Got it.” Ron then found a comfortable position against a wall. He leaned against chipped paint that had once indicated the number of the what had once been a street. The yellow square revealed a thermal map of the area they were to explore. Ron’s eyes shifted over the grid for a minute while he thought through where he’d be most likely to find curios of worth. The others in the troupe mingled. The portly one squatted down next to one of the welders and asked polite questions about her weekend. A lame about there being sparks when they’d kiss which he had figured out just how to word hovered in his throat. He’d never been able to bite the bullet, never had the courage to mix business with pleasure.
Ron folded his arms. The sounds of digital alarms and chains grinding against rusted parts echoed out through the dark vacant world around them. Blue light hung above a few workers trying to fit hooks around a giant rectangular slab of metal in the tunnel across the way.
“You think we’ll get back before the sun goes down?” One of the troupe asked.
“Why? You got something to do?” Another mocking inquired.
“You’re the boring one. What do you like crawling around underground?”
The girthy member of G company tapped Ron on the shoulder. “You heard about the ghost?”
“Come on now.” Said Ron with an incredulous yet friendly cadence. “The last thing I want is for the crew to get spooked so if you see it keep it to yourself.”
“You’ve seen it haven’t you?” Ron could tell by the naïve way those words rattled out that he was talking to a believer.
“Oh I’ve seen it. Its worse than people let on. So when you start screaming I want you to remember what I said and tell everyone you twisted your ankle.” Ron smiled under his helmet.
“S-sure boss.” With that the yellow box inside their displays turned green and G company set began to walk down a dark hall towards the elevator shaft. They all grabbed their harnesses from atop a crate they’d been wheeled out into the dark corridor. They fastened their straps and tugged on the belts to make extra sure they would be cut loose during the dissent. Ron pulled at the sides of the metal door, the head lamps of his crew shinning over him- completely deleting his shadow as he opened the entrance to the dark pit. The metal screeched back at him before settling with a deep metallic sigh.
The shaft was a vertical slice of silence and void where only a few orbs of dust would cross their head lamps. Long ago the carriage had fallen to the bottom, a depth which had rarely been the priority for scavenging parties due to a number of complications that always arose when people were tempted by the idea of the riches and lack sufficient regard for safety. The portly man winced under his visor and tried to think of something other than the pile of bodies below. Another dreamt about how much money he’d make after pulling the helmets off the rotted skulls of the lost. The six of them secured the thick metal drop cables to their suites. Ron checked the suspension rig they’d installed in the shaft a few weeks back. He tapped a button on the side of his helmet and pushed into the blinking red bar between the miles of coiled cable above the pit.
“We’re all set.” He said and then hoped out of the hall. He rotated a bit and gave a thumbs up toward the blinding combined incandescence of his crews lamps before letting the motor drop his line down steadily. The others followed suite. Falling slowly side by side.
“I spy with my little eye.” Said one of them. Bolts and metal in various states of decay passing them on either side. “Something corroded.”
“How are those new legs Yorik?”
“Can’t complain.” The slide show of rust and dust continued.
“I can’t imagine getting work done on my limbs. Organs I can see but arms and legs. That’s crazy man.”
“Don’t criticize me you fat ass mouth breather.”
“Boys.” Ron said in a patronizing way. “Table all that until we’re up top.”
Yorik tapped his crewmate on the shin with his foot. The other man winced. Yorik laughed quietly before switching his audio link back on. They went down. Sub-level twenty two. They went down. Sub-level thirty seven.
“Anyone want to come with me to Xanadu this weekend to see the races?”
“You’d have to pay me to hang out with you.”
“Yeah. Well you’re pretty cheap. Would you do it for a hotdog?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
“What about you Simon?”
Just then one of the ropes began to rock back and forth. “Whoa!” One of the troupe exclaimed as he tried to stabilize himself. His white gloves gripped tighter to the cable. “Is there someone fucking around up there!?” The man looked up into the darkness. The man fell into the darkness. Sunk like a rock into the black of the elevator shaft.
“Simon!” Ron exclaimed. The others chirped in confusion and dismay. One of them tried to switch on communications with the site director and Simon. A few of them scrambled to anchor themselves to the wall. Another slipped away with a muffled scream. Another twisted precariously as he reached for the wall only to tumbled about toward the bottom. The cord of that last man wrapped around one of those bulbous white helmets. A yelp of agony bellowed as the man’s neck struggled to support the full wait of a fully armored and heavily augmented Martian. Ron pulled zip cables from his belt and secured himself to some of the pipes that protruded just above the elevator doors they’d been sent to cut open. “Yorik! Cut the cable off him!” He yelled to his co-worker.
“Fucking!” The man yelled back as he went to aid the other who’d since stopped screaming and began to choke, gargle, fill his helmet with red. Then they too both fell away. Save for the sound of heavy breathing into a re-inhaler it had become quiet. An empty kind of quite, not little but no sound. Just the huff and puff under Ron’s helmet. A few holographic green squares blinked inside his visor.
“Central! Emergency!” but he received no co-sign. All the Coms were dead. He unfastened the rope on his back and looked about the area. His headlamp illuminated ancient rust proof steel and titanium. Bolts, pipes, boxes with fuses that’d burnt out hundreds of years ago. A mist of dust and fine sand hung in the silence. His own cord fell without him. He looked up but he couldn’t seen the source of the tragedy. He huffed and puffed. Tried in vain to get a signal. He clung to the side of the pit for a considerable amount of time.
Eventually Ron thought it best to open the old doors beside him, if only so he could have a place to rest while he thought about the situation. He produced a small laser from his pouch- a rod like thing with a trigger and a lever. As the steel sparked back and melted he thought over which options we’re the least moral and which would be the most successful. His crew mates had fallen from a high of twenty stories- if they had hit the bottom it would have been a twenty to twenty and change story fall. They could have been lucky. They’d never seen the bottom. Knowledge of how deep had been known from old blue prints and from a few drone drives- drones which Ron now desperately wished they’d had in the sortie this time around- but who knew if something had shifted deep in the bowls of the ruins. He’d hoped that maybe one of them could’ve gotten caught on a hook. He shouted down but there was no response. Only an echo.
The doors whined and screeched as they parted. A stream of water began to flow down into the hole- it was slightly gray. The water had sat stagnant for centuries -a puddle foot deep above the floor, dyed by the ink of rotted paper work and dissolved boots. He splashed into the chamber. His head lamps crossed over barren walls and a few open rooms but mostly the place was a series of other such doors which would doubtless prove more of a challenge to open. Ron wished he’d eaten more this morning. He winced at the idea of carefully climbing back up an inch at a time. He sighed.
He waded through the muck to the far side of the hall. There was a stair well which seemed to be unobstructed. Ron pushed against the walls to test how easily they’d crumble and to hear if they’d resonate in a particularly ominous way. He ventured up the steps and out of the wet. He slipped slightly but caught himself. He kept an eye on the display inside his helmet, hoping to see a gain in reception. If nothing else maybe he could walk part of the way back up before finding another opening to the shaft. His boots clicked and tapped against the scratched iron.
I turned into another hall. The still air seemed warmer here. A sound reverberated from somewhere far off. Perhaps a pipe came loose was a thought he’d had. He speculated about the sound and ran through imagined scenarios on many other things. Cautious not to get his foot caught and careful not to lose himself, Ron made note of everything his head lamp shined on. I took up a quicker pace but told himself not to get carried away. Most likely a mechanical failure. I get out of here and I get my compensation. I get out of here and I’m on vacation. He came upon a ladder. A quick glace to his left. The door to the shaft was shut on this level. He went up.
As his head popped out of the floor his helmet lit up. He always let go, he was shocker by the sound that came with the transmission. “Hello!? Hello!?” Electronica music began to blast into his headset. His ear drums begged for mercy. Ron lifted himself up and through the helmet off. The sound of the music was still nauseatingly loud, so loud his helmet visibly moved about the ground as the speakers jumped and bumped. Ron pushed his finger against a square button that would normally find itself behind his neck when worn. Manually he turned the volume down to a dull roar and manually he flipped the receiver into OUT mode.
“Hey! We have an emergency! Who is this!? Can you hear me?!” The music stopped. His head lamp went dark. “God!” Ron pulled the white gun from his shoulder holster and turned on the torch inside it’s barrel. He pointed the gun tuned flash light at the helmet. He smacked the thing a few times but it was no use. He removed the battery pack from the side and tried to reset the thing but that was also no use. He groaned in frustration. “Can anyone hear me?!” Empty. Echo.
He pointed his gun down the hall. The light shone on a cable dangling above the pit. Ron could faintly see it through the mist. He took to running, grunting frantically. “Hey!” He reached the precipice. Silence. He pointed his gun down. Empty. A blast of inertia came down onto the back of his head. Ron dropped to his knees, dizzy, dazed, confused and upset. A figure swung past what little he could see and Ron became frightened and angry all at once. He felt something tap his ribs. Ron’s ribs were metal but it hurt all the same. He felt something cross the flesh on his face which hurt considerably more.
The head lamp on the helmet lit up and the droning club music began to boom through the hall. Ron pushed himself up against the wall. His feet fumbled about as he took wild blind swings this way and that. His nose bounced against his teeth. He could see it now, it was a fist. A shadow grabbed his shoulder holsters and soon after Ron’s spine audibly fractured against the sides of the small corridor. He felt the world disappear beneath him. He plummeted. Sailed into the underworld at the speed of full gravity.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Honest people making honest livings. I don’t much care for the honesty. Honestly the worst thing anyone ever said to me was the truth. It’s a vicious cycle. I had reality enacted on me and thus I abuse my readers just the same.

Chapter 18
Saturn’s Shadow

Her red heels snapped against the lavish dark amber that’d been set into the wide chamber of the hotel. There was no one else but them. Stars twinkled outside the circular window- a dome that extended beyond the haul of the space ship. Darren turned to her. Red tie black suit. She held a tall cup, the Champaign fizzled inside it like living gold. Her cherry nails clicked against the glass. A drop of gold twinkled on her lipstick. At the top of the world in a red dress. Darren grabbed her hand and held it in his own.
“What did I ever do to deserve something as wonderful as this.” He’d stolen the words straight out of her own mind. Her eyebrows lifted in a worried but grateful manner. She was beside herself- overcome with a complex series of emotions. Validation, love pinned onto a primal appreciation for the obscene displays of wealth. In this setting, with these clothes- she couldn’t help to taste the same ego as the queens of Egypt had in times long past. A side from the crew and the captain who kept out of sight the two of them stood above the world as pagan gods of lust and love- part of a constellation in the sky.
“Daren it’s beyond my wildest dreams.”
“Yours in a love worth all there is.” Their eyes fixated on each other like a key and a clock.
“You’re amazing. How did you make all of this. I never could have thought that-” The lock turned.
“I didn’t make anything. I just put something together.” Daren basked in the light of his own modesty. The sun flared over the curve of mars below. Her bright smile. The ship stopped rotating. She made a sound of surprise as they lifted off the floor. Floating now. He grabbed her by the waist. They spun gently, weightlessly as the stars twinkled through the glass. He kissed her.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

A fire cult. He danced over embers. Long next that look like they should brake. His feet lift up, fling this way and that. Embers dance. Their sapphire feathers jingle. It’s not a bad deal. To be a Sure-Way and to be divorced from the competing forces of human nature. Those ideas congeal into something childish. Those ideas become parodies of themselves. They get reduced to sound bite and single serving slices of what should have been a beautiful conversation. I try hard- very hard- to tell you about the sure things. I reserve what I believe and try to convey what I know. I wont pretend to be balanced because the reality is there isn’t such a thing. You don’t look at two ideologies and pretend they each have equal counter points. You don’t because they don’t.
Thus they are not opposites. There isn’t two ways about it. There is two thousands ways about it. Out of those there are some ideas that are utterly idiotic. There are some ways which hit the mark in different directions. At points there is honesty, some ways are honest and they are all the more retarded for it. I long for something simple. As I watch them dance I wish I could join in but not only to dance. I want to say we are the same. I am you. I’ve wanted to do that without lying but I can’t lie to myself. I know I don’t believe. I wish my language was like theirs. Wish I could speak without being reductive. Wish I could say something sure without asking for a hour of your time.

Chapter n1NeteeN

Two Orbs of Apathy

I feel like there is something I miss. My head feel like its full of hate but I can’t remember ever hating anything. It feels like I’m cutting through the branches of a dense jungle. Like I’m carving a path to somewhere I don’t know. Is the destination anywhere but here? Is that the goal. Scissors snipped above his throat. I can feel the nerves in my brain. Hear the blood rushing against my skull. Like the tide. My skin feels dry.
“Don’t try to speak just yet.” The old man’s voice was full mellow notes. Hints of mournfulness and drops of patience.
I can only see red. I’m inside the skin of a fruit. The light from beyond the peel brings veins and nerves a shape. The jelly in my eyes is colder than my eyelids. My ear drums feel full. Why is it now that I remember black beard. A lizard.
“Don’t move too much Rhei.”
I can smell again. Chocolate. What was it? Did I burn up? I feel so dry. God I don’t think my lungs have moved this much in months. Is that water in me? When did I drink water?
__________________________________________________________________________________

An intravenous drip. The IV bag slowly drained as the day went by. A record player not too far away cycled through the best records he had. Both A and B sides. A golden lion’s head was mounted on the wall opposite the two of them. It’d be the first things their eyes would focus on when their eyes reconnected with their brains. The old man wasn’t in the building when they came too. First it was Casey, he discovered the paper cloth around his chest, touched his neck in fright. The after an hour Rheic answered Casey’s desperate pleads. Rheic took not of the bio material in the waste bin between them. Solid bubbles of organ tissue and leafs. Viscous meat like shavings tangled up like wires behind what were those things called. Electronic something or other. De-respiratory devices thingy things. Those things. He was very much not afraid. Nor was Rheic surprised. He did notice that he was hungry.
He tried to stand up but his feet wouldn’t allow it. They’d both been bandaged. They’d both had their first bit of maintenance. Had their fluids changed. Their lungs trimmed. Casey had questions and a port drilled into his chest. The less interested of the two felt the feed to hold a pen. A bunch of keys on strings walked in eventually. They’d thank him an hour later. A pen scratched out a portrait. The ceiling fan turned.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Rheic, would you mind coming with me to the new production facility?

“Behold the ultimate weapon.” Wischard said as he opened the door to the dream he’d dedicated so much to realize. “The golden goose!” He yelled with glee. “What you’re looking at his took a quarter of my life, that was stolen from me by the devil and in exchange you find these five converted rocket hulls. In them are the seeds of life. A cure to make Mars skies blue.”
“Holy shit man!” Casey stomped down the metal steps- rushing toward the sideways metal obelisks before a groan of pain echoed through the warehouse. Casey gripped at the wound he’d reopened on his chest and heaved with a telling smile on his. The old man looked down at Casey and returned the grin.
“Indeed, this shit is holy.” Marquis said as he placed the tip of a tobacco pipe into his mouth.
“Imagine taking a dip in one of those things!” Casey continues to take limping steps toward the dark green liquid sloshing about behind the glass bits of the converted rockets.
“Imagine an entire ocean of it.” The old man laughed and struck a match. Rehic made his way down a latter with casual and measured movements. He arrived on the ground floor at about the same time as Casey who’d just finished stumbling down the steps at the opposite end.
“Oh dam. I’m bleeding.” Rehic went over to tighten the bandages around his friend’s chest.
“Pop-Heads like you should be very pleased with my innovations.” The old man raised his voice considerably in order to be heard from up high. “You’d find the potency of such things dwindles in our atmosphere. While there is plenty of Carbon Dioxide the sun light is negligible- the soil is rotten- so much so that it’s easier to grow plants inside..” He paused. Puffed on his pipe. “Well I’m sure you know about that. What you’re seeing here is more profound then your vices. I recently got a contract. A big contract. This is the machine that will Martiaform our planet. The whole thing. It’s already proven to disimbue bleached earth at exponential rates. When finished-”
“What’s Martiaform?” Casey said. Genuinely curious.
“He means its like terraforming but for Mars.” Rehic said as he tightened the red and white bandages around Casey’s chest.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you down there.” The old man yelled back.
_______________________________________________________________________________

It was a Wednesday. Rheic was laying on Marquis’s coach sucking on a popsicle. Blue ribbons dangled off the edge of the air conditioner. A train made aggravated sounds in the distance. The shades had been drawn on the windows, lines of pink sun rays laid across the various framed photos and oddities nailed to the walls in the room. A tea kettle whistled from beyond the door frame. Rheic had been in this position for a while now. He stared straight upward. The ceiling fan turned. His wounds were healing but they were taking their sweet time in doing so.
The old man entered the room with two cups of hot tea. He sat down at his desk. Keys jingled. He flipped through a stack of pages. Cleared his throat. The popsicle was banana flavored. A parrot squawked from an indeterminate sector of the building. The ceiling fan threw a few bits of dust into the pink light- the dust twinkled like stars and drifted like a small slice of the milky way. A few boots could be heard going up the stairs. A pen collided with a page or two. Scribbling. Scribbling.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Black blades snipped at the air. The shadow of helicopters raced across the ground in the alleyway. Rheic had borrowed a crutch from the old man, he leaned against it and winced as he tried to look past the glair of the sun. They flew in a formation not to dissimilar to migrating birds. Some of the Martians popped their heads out of broken windows. Casey shouted down from the roof at his friend. “You see that shit?!” Rheic silently acknowledged the question. Casey shot his gun up into the air.
Marquis walked out onto the fire escape. “Fucking stop that shit!” He screamed upward. Rheic moved his crutch north and started to hobble into the city. Casey snapped a picture of the helicopters with his Com-Card and tried to send it out. Black Beard’s face stuttered on his screen. LOOKS CRAZY MAN. Somewhere out in space the NASA logo got between the satellite’s laser and Black Beards jokes. His Com-Card struggled to find all the binary. A strained robotic voice tried to mimic a chuckle, failed to render a thumbs up.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Rheic tried to occupy himself by watching the streams but to no avail. For months a it’d been put on loop; video of the president being fished out of the water. A brutal scene, organs floating around a primal man in a suit dyed with coagulated blood. Red and brown gore. Stained from head to toe. It had inspired numerous heavy metal albums which Casey was partial to. The talking heads couldn’t find a second to talk about anything else. It would run in advertisements between cartoons. It was everywhere and near the only thing that was spoken about.
Against the advice he’d been given in regards to his condition, Rheic would plant seeds inside his flesh. The lungs needed to heal so him and his best friend found injects to be a temporary solution to what was shaping up to be their final problem. The secretions of the plant is what tapped on their brains. Taken alone by syringe was dangerous indeed. The plants made their domain habitable, they accommodated their host as much as need be. To take condensed and boiled down pop was akin to eating bags of raw sugar instead of a cake. They spent what might have been weeks up on the roof staring at the sky. Burning the wires.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Lance snapped his fingers in front of Casey’s face. “Is he ever coming back?”
“Some do.” The old man placed four bowls of beef stew onto the table. Rheic drooled in a more dignified way than his friend. They looked like dolls. They’d sweat themselves down to bones. Most of the day they’d be propped up in the corner of the kitchen. Barely moving. Barely making a sound. It was only in one our of the day, usually in the quietest hours of the night, that they’d find the will to eat and speak but four words a piece. The rice cooker boiled over. The old man burnt his hands moving it into the sink.
_______________________________________________________________________________

When their lungs were more or less empty they came back to life. A partial, dulled life. Colors seemed less remarkable. A strange sweet smell turned up when they put seeds into their throats. The smell brought back memories of earth and yet they couldn’t remember this scent. It seemed wholly new. Pungent and pleasant.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Driving around the bend. Racing the train the runs next to the highway. Ketchup colored lights blink atop radio towers and the satellites blink back. I try to catch up to my day job. I’d been delivering this and that while touring the liberated territories. The wheels of my convertible scraped against yellow lines. The road gets slippery when you’re going over two fifty. I had a dead line but it wasn’t my life on the line. I had to get this there or a ransom was going to become a murder. Forty pounds of gold was going express. I’d pulled out of the gate town an hour previous to this. I couldn’t help but hate the negotiator but I’d bet set for life if I get this there. Getting up to two sixty.
The exit came at me quick. It was a hairpin turn. The ass of my Vulture started getting eaten away by the guardrail. The fender blasted away from me. I heard it wrap around the street. A loud crash. My wheels started to thump as I came out twist. Cat’s eyes blurred over my windshield as road way signs split apart and bent up the hood of my car. I cursed and bit the inside of my cheek. My baby cried. It’s engine shrieked. I leaned into the steering wheel as hard as I could in the opposite direction. The tail end of the vehicle flexed to one side before the wind dragged it back into place. I straightened out. A mostly open road. Four lanes.
The toll booth in front of me had already lifted it’s reflective gate. I was confident in that but not opposed to tearing the thing off it’s hinges. I weaved through traffic. I slowed to a mere one hundred miles per hour as I prepared to go down the last ramp- my back was stiff and my eyes twitched about like lightning. I pressed on the breaks and the accelerator both as I left the wide roadways that looped above the city and got ready to gun it in the guts of lower Echo.

Chapter Twenty

Page Turner

“What a shitty pen name. Page Turner.” Lance scoffed. Darren moved his pawn to E-5.
“I think its kind of clever.” Said Daren- his hand resting on his chin.
“Slightly. Maybe.” Lance slid a bishop diagonally across the board. A man in a suit walked up beside Daren and whispered something in his ear. Daren made a dismissive motion with his hand and returned to moving a piece on the board. The man in the suit fiddled with his ear piece as he went back to his post besides the other body guard. A statue of a saint looked down at their game. The orange and black clouds sparked slightly and a faint rumble of thunder pressed against the sound of crowds. The first few droplets began to splash against their hands.
“Of coarse it’d have to rain today.”
“That piece doesn’t move that way.”
“Really?” Daren retraced his last move with his finger. “Oh. I see.”
A woman in a white dress began to play the cello. Worshipers stood in the rain to hear her song. Daren and Lance ran towards the limo to take shelter from the storm which began to intensify. It went from a drizzle to a hard cascade of heavy rain. A big man in leather turned his head as he noticed the two of them climb into the regal machine. Droplets tapped the top of his umbrella as he stood over the bowstring, guarding a siren’s song.
“Darn.” The door slammed shut and Lance pulled at his jacket. He feared the rain my fade the leather.
“We both know you were going to win.” Daren said.
“You got to get going now don’t you?” Lance made his words carry an exaggerated cadence of pity and disappointment but he was disappointed all the same.
“No. I’ve pushed everything off today’s itinerary” The rain was great for people watching. You could tell who had cybernetics and who didn’t by how they reacted to the storm. Some people hid, fearing the corrosive effects of the acidic drizzle and some let gallons of the stuff wash over them without a care.
“I love it when it rains. it’s the only time the world stops shimmering.”
“The world shimmers?”
“This one does. You’ve never noticed?”
“Can’t say I have Lance.” Darren coughed into his hand.
“You know how streets get blurry when its hot out. Like that.”
“My eye sights been getting worse with my age.”
“Get it touched up.”
“No.”

The Limo pulled up to Darren’s strong hold. A factor seven stories tall with an elegant facade of triangular archways and stone pillars that drew the eye towards the strangely tasteful silhouettes of women that’d been painted along the high walls. A tall cooling tower loomed over the building, ejecting the heat and thin smoke of burnt resins and other such high quality materials that had mutated during the production of dolls.
__________________________________________________________________________________

“Have you read my book?”
“No.”
“Do you plan on reading my book?”
“I don’t have time to read books.”
“Could you pay someone to read it for you?”
“Yes.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
The two of them walked through a corridor lined with hydroponic gardens on either side of the pale linoleum floor. Slightly purple light reflected off the railings in contrast to the gray sky that bubbled and turned in the long windows behind the ferns. Lance grabbed a peach off a tree as they walked through glass box on the ninth story. It’d been a while since breathing had been this easy for Lance. He stopped his stride to look out at the rain battering the broken skyline. The peach sweetness of the peach was very slight. Compared to peaches on earth its was near tasteless. Compared to concentrated flavors in Martian foods it was too pure. Empty. Look at that. The city. Disrepair. When everything looks new we forget to keep up. Ageless and free of consequence. A sad thing. Earthlings want. It was a cage, no problems. No weather. Millions of miles of the same saccharine sleep.

The two of them moved through a large pair of doors that men clad in earpieces and black suits had wordlessly opened for them. The room resembled that of the captains quarters in an old Victorian era ship save for the fact it was much larger and the large monitor above the dinner table displaying stock prices in constant factional fluxuation. Satin curtains and gold trim. The walls- smart windows with the texture of wood projected over them. When the sat down Daren made a slight gesture and the monitor switched off. Their plates were filled with steak and lobster.
“What do you want to drink man?” Daren asked through the steak in his mouth.
“Whisky sounds good.”
“Hey Daren can you open the holo-curtains?” The wood on the walls glitched out of existence and was replaced by the moody maze that was Echo City. A fire work popped wide between two dark clouds, brilliant purple and orange flames sizzled.
“Already?” Darren smile and lifted his wine glass. “What’s in been? Eight? Nine months?” Lance lifted his own cup and tapped it against his friends.
“It’s been everything I thought it’d be and more than I could ever dream.” Just then the door burst open.
“Sir, we have to evacuate! it’s the Chinese!”
“The Chinese!?” Lance said in utter confusion. Six men in suites, two with rifles and the others brandishing heavy black magnetic pistols politely took their positions beside each etrance and exit. One of them strode toward the table holding a long screen which displayed the camera feeds from inside the building. The windows turned black. The thin wide screen Darren’s security guard held up flared white from one corner and at the same moment a loud boom could be heard from the first floor. The building shook.
“It’s best if we get to the roof and take the helicopter. Stay close. You as well.” Another of the six security detail came behind Lance and put a bullet proof vest around his chest. Lance lifted his arms and furrowed his brows. “Stay close to the ground whenever possible.” Hand signs. They gathered around one of the door. Lance and Darren were shepparded into the least vulnerable positions. The door to the hallway opened up. The rifles went first.
“The fucks going on Darren?”
“The Chinese.” Darren wheezed back.
“Quickly now.” The black suit behind Lance said in a firm but disconcerted kind of way.
“Oh man why is it the fucking Chinese?!” Darren wheezed. Fire works shattered in the air outside the building. Two of the squad ran to the end of the hall way. They stayed low, the leaves on pair tree in the hallway scrapped against their shoulders. The lights flickered. “I’m sorry about this Lance.” They turned the corner into a wide room full of now unoccupied desks and computer chairs, some of which spun slowly. There was a few researchers scrambling to download their work onto secure drives before evacuating but most could be heard frantically running about the emergency lifts and ramps.
“You nine o’clock. Scan.” The security chief banged his hand against a bright button on the elevator door. Lance looked past a few small statuettes atop on of the desks at a woman in a lab coat with messy red hair. She looked over at their group with frenzied eyes as the screen in front of her went from ninety to ninety seven percent. The bell chimed and the elevator doors opened. Four of the security detail filed in to the lift, the marble floor bounced light against their rifles. Those rifles, automatic and almost as long as a man- chunky, weighty things with rectangular wings that stuck out in a cumbersome way. Lance and Darren were politely shoved into the space along with the rifles. The chief pushed the wire in his ear. “Start spinning.” he said.
They were packed together like sardines. A number slowly ticked upward above their heads. Darren gripped his chest. One of the black suites pulled a lever on his gun. Something deadly shifted inside the metal. Adrenaline surged through the duo. The bell chimed again. The doors opened to the roof. Rain beat down against everything. A helicopter cut the air- made a deafening sound- it stood ready atop a big H. The chief put Darren’s arm over his shoulder and started to take long strides toward the chopper. Something whistled through the air. Fire engulfed the machine. A horrendously loud boom split apart the rain around them as the blades came undone and the pilot screamed.
Darren gasped. The chief grabbed his employer by the back of his shirt and tossed him back into the elevator. One of the rifles spat out twenty magnetic rounds in the span of ten seconds. Lance found himself ungracefully guided to the back wall of the lift by a strong shove. The other rifles rattled in concert with the mostly aimless suppressing fire of first. They were soaked to the bone, panting, hands on their knees trying to breath. The suites backed into the box, firing shots up until the last second before the doors slid shut. “We’re exfiltrating through the assembly wing. E-Team.” The chief pulled the wire from his ear and put a hand on Darren’s shoulder. “You’re going to get out of here.” Darren nodded his head, flecks of sweat and rain droplets detached themselves from the grays in his hair. “We’re stopping the elevator at the second floor. Can you climb. We’re going to crawl through the vents.” Darren nodded his head.
The squad leader pulled at a seem in the ceiling and opened a square port. He cupped his hands and gestured with his eyes at the two of them. Darren clumsily used the mans fingers as a step to get up and above the number falling between the super heated barrels of the rifles. Lance got up and out of the cramped cube just as the bell dinged and the number stopped falling. Two. The chief grabbed hold of a ventilation fan with his bare hands and ripped it out of the wall. The Two of them slipped into the narrow claustrophobic space. The chief held on to the side of the wall as the elevator started to drop down to the first floor. The other members of his crew waited patiently to hit the ground level. When the bell dinged again lead would be the first thing to exit into the lobby.
They moved like slugs being chased by a snake through the innards of the building. The suit in the back faintly rose his voice to give directions on where they should turn and when. While they worked their way towards the exfiltration point all manner of shouting and the crack of several different calibers rang out. Darren bit his lip. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was furious that all he’d made might come to naught. “Take a left here and crawl to the end of the shaft.” There was some thin slits where flickering light from the assembly area could find its way up and onto the chief’s hawk like eyes. He looked down into the meek shimmer of bulbs switching between emergency power and standard. He kicked down and crashed onto white sanitized linoleum. He stood waiting to catch his employer and the guest. Stood amongst a thousand mannequins in various states of assembly. B cup. Lance dropped down first. D cup. Darren flopped like a fish into the other man’s arms.
Lance spun around and his eyes crossed over everything in the room as quick as lightning. His sights stopped on everything- he took a mental picture of hundreds of Sex-Bots- the kind of photograph one can only manage to make when his life was in danger or in the moment you fall in love. The door at the far end of the room burst open. Harsh yelling in oriental dialects to which Lance knew nothing of. Boots and bullets breaking beautiful busts and barking following the destructive flood as a dozen assassins in full body armor trampled over everything Darren had done in pursuit of his dream. Plastic boxes filled with motherboards and calibrating instruments shattered in the air. Monitors went black and broke into shards of jagged, useless rubbish.
Darren, hunched over and heaving rolled out of his protectors grip and pushed a thumb drive into an over turned computer tower. He pulled out his Com-Card and pressed enter. An army of Sex-Bots all called out for a master and began too flail about erratically. Stuttering electric words like pleasure and love popped out of their mouths ass bullets tour through the silicon army. “Come on!” Darren’s hoarse voice roared. The three of them ran for the door. Circuits and Barbie doll lips. Burning plastic.
They were in the parking lot. A skirmish was happening just down the way. The rain played its song along side the munitions. A spacious faux leather back seat. The engine hummed. The world turned at right angles as the chief zig zagged out of the parking lot in Darren’s favorite sports car. They slid back and forth on the leather seat. “I’m sorry.” Lance said. The tires screeched and the chief switched gears.
“What are you sorry for?” Darren said as he gripped the side of the door.
“You know what. I don’t know.”
“That’s stupid.” Gun shots. Darren sighed. He leaned over and held his head in his hands.
“Yeah.”
“Oh well.” Darren loosened his tie. The car began to sharply drift around a bend.
The city was on fire. Smoke played in the wind between highway overpasses, danced around street signs. Brilliant flairs pushed light against the black clouds. They’d pass a few burning buildings, the driver through a few blasts from his hand cannon behind the car. Big trucks carrying assassins tailed them for the better part of an hour. Eventually they relented. Some streets shoot on sight if you’re not the type they know. Some streets jump at the chance to eat the emperor’s goons. They rolled to a stop a block from the Red Moon diner. The driver’s window slid down and large man in black leather approached him.
The two exchanged business cards and made a transaction with their Com-Cards. The big man held out his fist and the chief tapped it with his knuckles before the car starting to crawl forward. Happy New Year. Lance studied the rain drops on the window with a pensive look on his face. Maybe I should get my ticket back to earth. One last pass. I’ll see everything there is to see. He looked over at Darren. Then we’ll get out of here.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Page Tuner- Real name; Grace Stanford had two tickets to a comedy show, despite this she’d only had to pull out one chair. A kerosene lamp glowed at the center of a small round table. She fiddled with the buckle of her purse nervously. She held the bag close to her gut defensively. Chatter around the small venue seemed relatively disarmed and jovial, it was new years week after all. Despite her confidence in the private security and despite having read the room she had a strange sense that there were omens which she could not see. Foreboding feelings akin to sea sickness, similar to dizziness and yet the world hadn’t swayed or spun- in fact everything around her seemed a bit too upright.
The room went nearly dark, save for the lamps on the tables just before the spot light hit the stage. A skinny fellow with thick glasses and a casual brown leather jacket grabbed the microphone from the stand. The chatter died down.
“Good evening.” He said in a comically deep voice that road up too close too the receiver.
“You know getting up here takes a lot of guts. I get asked about that a lot. You know. How to get over St-st-st-sta-stage freight.” The audience gave a few soft chuckles.
“Now’s the part where I tell you the doors are locked. You’re all going to die!” The crowd laughed hardily.
“Maybe I’m just trying to cause a stampede. The best part about that would be- technically. I didn’t kill anybody. You know like two people are sure to die at any large concert? Let me tell you man Ringo Starr got off on that shit. It’s true. I read it just the other night. They had an interview with him, Elvis, and Bigfoot. Said “I was always excited after the show to know how many we got. How much blood?! I love death!” Laughter. Grace felt her heart pounding against her chest. “Jesus Christ.” The man smiled.
A man in a black leather jacket and sunglasses startled Ms.Tuner. The man had pulled out the seat next to hers- sat down as if he had every right too. The man looked familiar to her but she couldn’t exactly place where she’d seen him. “Page Turner yes?” The man said in a juvenile kind of way. “Beautiful name.” The man took off his shades. She still didn’t know who he was. “With a name like that you must have been fated from the start to be a best seller.”
“And who are you?” She gripped her purse a bit tighter. Lance pulled a paper back copy of his book out of his coat pocket and tapped on the cover. The woman gave an innocent chuckle. “What a beautiful name” She said and laughed a bit more. Here snickering was absorbed by the crowd who’d just irrupted in cackling- involuntary applause- A Ha and a Ha running in parallel but opposite directions. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Like wise.” Lance rested his chin on his fist and grinned.
“You we’re on the news the other day. Dragons have a bounty on you. Do you think it’s wise to be out in public Mr.Calligraphy?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. This deep in. I’d be impressed if they snagged me.”
“Well I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.”
“Page. I’ve decided to get off this rock. You have exclusive rights to that information.”
“I’m not a journalist.”
“I’m not a Martian. You know I’ve always wanted to meet you. I had to before I left.”
“My biggest fan?” She pulled her purse up and onto the table and pulled out a pen. “Where do I sign?”
The world laughed around them.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Time and time again I saw something beautiful spring forth from the filth that was our city. It repeats itself. It makes a point of it. Fire reaches out of the windows towards which ever moon gave the order. The satellites assassinate the citizens. Distant, malevolent forces of nature like pagan gods. They demand us on the alter. I’ve often thought about that fire. When man first started to gather and to where nature ends and man begins. There were gods of storm and gods of draught. The nature of man, not as one but when put together creates a new deity. The conscious fate. The kind that doesn’t throw lightning but instead wills a knife to find a rib. Maybe the only way to guard against such a vicious ghost is to go somewhere no one’s ever died. To be far away from it’s lustful eyes.
Time and time again I saw something beautiful plucked out of our world. The mob runs it over with their feet. She sits there like discarded meat. I saw her dead eyes stare into the side walk. They walked around her. Respect the dead. I only really had hope for Xanadu. I pay my respects to her. I pay out of pocket to burn the body. Set a cross where she was.

Chapter Twenty1
My Lady Symphony

Substantially strong arms bounced up and down in tandem with both the stirfry in a big metal wok and the upbeat tunes coming from the small speakers beside the salt shaker. Symphony helped the ink from her ball point pen escape more easily by scribbling a spiral until it’s stuttering flow began to flow without stuttering. Her father threw peppers and onions above the pan and let them fall back down into it. A couple languages fluttered between the thin walls, from above the ceiling, from the people walking on street. Their home was cluttered but highly organized. There was a use for everything after all even if they themselves didn’t have a use for most of it.
Symphony was her father’s pride and joy. Optimists were rare here and of the few that were Symphony was counted amongst them. A pretty girl in her early twenties, without any scars and all her teeth. She existed as the perfect contrast to her father whom had several old burns and old cuts that covered every inch of his natural flesh. Along the plastic plates that had replaced half of his hands and a large section of his forehead there could be seen scars and dings, divits from arms deals gone wrong and battle damage from diplomacy done poorly. He’d worked as an everything for nearly everyone and for that most people on the block knew him -loved him or feared him.
Symphony’s father placed the plate of pepper and ground beef in front of her sketch book. He pulled out a chair of his own giving no attention or care to the scratches made into the floor as he did so. He took a few bites and then looked over the cluttered. Stacks of books and widgets on the table.
“You’re really going to go out looking like that?”
“Dad.” She said with a pensive shift of the eyes. “It could be worse but maybe you’re right. I don’t feel all that comfortable with it myself.”
“I’m just messing with you sweetie.”
“But you’ve got a point, the sun will dry me up if I wear this during the day.” She stood up and walked to her room. Her father ripped the cap off a beer bottle and changed the music with a turn of his thumb over the soft hologram that hovered around his Com-Card. When she returned her long black hair had been put up into a pony tail and her collar bone was covered beneath a pink turtle neck.
“You look gorgeous darling.”
The two of them left the house and made their way to The Print Outlet. A dry name for a book store, the shop itself wasn’t any less drab. It was rather unassuming- just a flat wall and a glass window. A small sigh had been set just outside the entrance that advertised a book signing for one of Mar’s most popular authors. Callus Calligraphy. The woman stepped in first, her hair swayed about as she looked over the neat displays of recent limited prints. Her father had to duck to get under the bell, had to turn sideways in order not to knock over any of the products.
There in the far corner of the room behind a long oakish looking table Lance sat in his chair with his leg crossed casually over his knee. Lance clapped his hands softy “Perfect, perfect!” He said with curled lips. Three forty something’s all dressed modestly in long skirts had been asking him questions for the last twenty minutes. Each of them had a signed copy of the book in one of their hands. Symphony set her own copy on the counter. Her father walked behind the counter and slipped through a curtain that hid the excess inventory.
Marquis was waiting there for him. The old man shuffled a deck of cards beside shelves stacked with hard covers. “My man! Pull up a chair.” His man pulled up a chair. A veiny, wrinkled hand pushed poker chips across the dusty surface of a green tack board table.
“How’s life treating you?” The seat squeaked as it strained against the a goliath’s mass.
“Didn’t you hear? Their going to give me the key to the city for all my years of selfless service.”
“I think you’ve already got it. You must have forgotten which one it is.”
“I am getting rather old aren’t I?” Marquis sighed and began to toss cards onto the table one after the other.
“Does that guy pay for himself?” A non-sequeter. Whischard knew who and what he meant.
“I don’t care much for what he wrights but it breaks even.” Thick callous hands bent the five cards in front of him. Two twos and royalty. “He must be good at it. Mars isn’t the most literate place. Echo city doubly so.”
“My girl loves it.”
“I love that other people love it.” The old man grabbed a finger full of chewing tobacco from inside a bag in his coat pocket. Saw he was holding two kings one of which had put a sword in their own neck.
“Three.” A plastic hand through the dead cards into the center of the table.
“Alright then.”
___
Marquis grabbed an empty water bottle from between his legs. Spat brown slime inside the lid.
As we all know two aces doesn’t beat three sixes.
“I hate poker.”
“I know you do.”
“Never win.”
“So why’d you wanna’ see me?”
Marquis pulled out a news paper from his coat and unfolded it to page eight. “It’s all so fucked isn’t it.” He pointed at the headline.
____

Marquis lifted a large box out from one of the shelves beside him and set it on the table. He pulled a key off his coat and used it to cut through the tape. The cardboard parted to reveal nine thousand credits worth of high end prosthetics. “An entire city block got smashed down into the mantle in Xanadu yesterday during a raid on the prostetics factories. The prices are already shooting up. Up, up and away. I had this thing sat in the back of my ware house, it’s been waiting for you but I don’t think I’ll beable to get another replacement so soon and for so cheap if you break it before the ashes settle. No price hike for you, not this time. No, you’re worth every bit of silver.”
“Thank you Mar.” He grabbed the chrome limb off the counter and began to unfasten the gears in his left leg.
“Another corporate war is boiling just under the market. The emperor is looking down from his from Phobos and smiling.” Marquis folded the news paper in half and chewed solomely. “Hell. It’s already started. Hell it never really stopped, now did it.”
“That’s a shame. The people in Xanadu are close. Closer than people in Echo. I hate seeing goods getting caught in the cross fire like that.”
“When we all come together we’re capable of horrible things.” The old man spit a brown poision through his sharp teeth into the bottle. “Be careful not to ask for too much order.”
_______________________________________________________ -

“Nice ride”
“Well thanks dude.” Lance coveted his car.
“Maybe I should start writing. You buy that Vulture on credit man? Be real.”
“It’s all paid off now.” Lance scratched the back of his head.
“See dad. I’ll get you one when my novels’ a best seller.” Symphony said confidently.
“Yeah. There used to be more of her. I’m getting a new fender put on tomorrow. Fucking look at that hood. My baby got her ass beat.”
“I’d keep the dents man. Trophies. Souvenirs.”
“I couldn’t bare to do that.” Lance rubbed the side of his vehicle tenderly. “Just it bit longer babe. It’s going to be ok.” Marquis slid into the back seat closing the door with more force than anyone would ever need too in the process. Lance recoiled at the sound. “You’re not doing to bad yourself. I looked over one of those at the lot. Angry looking aren’t they.”
Marquis rolled down the window and with a tone of great annoyance, informed Lance that they had a schedule to keep. They said quick but pleasant farewells and departed in opposite directions. When Symphony and her father got back to their home he told her to lock the doors. He told her he’d call if he was going to be out late. He told her again to lock the doors.

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He was still trying to settle in to his new leg. He tap it against the his bar stool rhythmically. His face was cast in a tint of blue. A beer bottle with a kamikaze war banner for a label. A slot machine making racket next to an arcade cabinet. The big guy folded a bottle cap between his forefinger and his titanium thumb. Hot blooded neophytes bragged about their pistols. Flashy bastards who wore ugly colors and absurd hair cuts. A fight had started out back, it’d been going on for a good while. A trashy scab, proud to have a new scar over his chin walked up beside the man’s new leg. He order half a dozen drinks to bring out to the spectators. The big man’s plastic fingers scooped up a few peanuts, he turned his head and chewed.
A big mirror behind a row of spirits. The two caught each others reflections as the bar keep punched the register. They both grinned wryly. Above the mirror a monitor displayed the news with the captions on in large font. ARIAL FOOTAGE FROM GOLGOTHA SQUARE. HOSTAGE SITUATION. POP STAR NAMI IS BEING HELD RANSOME. FANS HAVE BEEN ISSUED ULTIMATUM. The two bounty hunters grabbed their Com-Cards and blinked a red light up at the monitor. A massive sum. To who ever could secure the singer’s safety with a bonus if they could manage to terminate her captor.
The scar across the other man’s chin folded under his smirk. The new leg straightened out at light speed and as quick as he could Symphony’s father was out the door. Six bottles fell onto the side walk, a leg swung over the saddle of a motor bike. The headlights of a high performance vehicle washed over the young hunter. The new legs smashed down onto the accelerated and exhausted fumes blasted around the young man’s helmet. The monitor in the car display the aerial footage of the concert. A man in a grey rain coat held a knife to Nami’s throat. The lightshow blinked and flashed around him as he yelled into the microphone. The engine roared.
The two of them pulled up to Golgotha Square at roughly the same time. Hundreds of people were walking away from the scene, hundreds walked towards it. Reporters and obsessive fans clucked like chickens around cameras or made frantic sounds while shouting amongst themselves. Bounty hunters were checking their guns, teams filed out of vans, a map of the area displayed inside the visors of their helmets. The security butt heads with the hunters. “They’ll be a bounty on you’re head if you go in there before we give the go-ahead!”
The two of them shoved their way through the crowd. “We can split it fifty fifty.” The young man yapped.
“No.”
“When you’re bleeding I won’t lift a finger. You’re an old bitch. I think you should reconsider.”
“No.” The young man was shoved down on his ass. The big guy disappeared into the crowd.
Helicopters circled overhead. Spot lights circled the stage. The man in the coat gave demands. “I’ll blow the bitch up!” Feed back screeched out of the speaker system. “Shoot me and her head pops off!”
By a chain link fence which had large prints of Nami’s face draped over it, behind a cardboard cut out- a titanium thumb quietly bent the wires apart from each other. He thought about his daughter. Knew if he could score this one he could retire with her to a gated neighbor hood far and away from Echo City. A place with book stores and egg head academies. A place where she can wear whatever she wants.
“What’re you doing there pal.” That bastard bikers voice.
“Find your own way in kid. If I see you again I’ll snap you’re neck.”
“How about I tell the Sec. about what you’re doing instead.”
“You know what.” He leaned against the fence and hung his head. “Come on then.”
“Thanks partner.” The young bastard slipped right through the small opening that’d already been made.
He caught up to the gross looking punk as he ducked behind one of the vacated food stands. Glow-sticks and small flags littered the open area between the stage and the gathering mob behind the fence.
“Ten minutes! Deposited the fucking credits or I’ll kill the bitch! I’ll kill er!” The speakers screeched.
The young hunter look up at the augmented goliath crouching beside him. “You hear that?”
A large hand filled with plastic and bolts pushed down on the young hunters shoulder. “Hear what?”
“We got to do this now. We’re closer than the others. I’ve got what you’ll need. You got what I need.”
“What are you talking about runt?”
“This.” He pulled out a square of opposite colored metals from his pocket. He turned it over to reveal a switch. A rudimentary solution. The augmented hunter remember his experiences with such things. He winced. It was a high powered magnet. When augmented folk got near one of those it feel like their limbs are trying to rip themselves apart from their owner- mostly because that was exactly the case.
“You’re taking the fall if you flip that switch and her head pops off.”
“Ok sure. Sure. Fifty-fifty yeah? Deal?” They shook on it. The big guy stayed close to the ground as he made his way closer to the stage. Above the manager of a news station spoke into his headset. The manager had decided it wasn’t worth the ratings or the death threats from fans- decided to tell the camera man to shine his lens on the hulking figure duck walking toward the stage.
“Now!” The young hunter flipped the switch. Every augmented person on the block cursed and gritted their teeth. Working through the pain the big guys metal fist slammed into Nami’s captor. She fell to the ground with a high pitched squeal. The other hunters ran over the gates- trampling a few members of the press in the process. The big guy searched the limp body of his paycheck. Was there a bomb? Was it on him or in him?
Fire. Flashing. It was all ripped apart. Mother of god. Said the man on the news. This just in Nami has been assassinated. Explosion in X district. It was all for not.

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Tempers tend to boil over when people ask each other questions. Dodging and hiding from answers. There’s a gun behind the president of Echo in every sense of it. Pockets of civility- entire nations condensed into city blocks. Everyone has each others back, everything is personal. An endless line of revenge and betrayals. Blood lines that run thick- a mixture of hate. A river of gore. Everyone wants more, they quietly wait to kill and to kill begets more. Then there was us. Interlopers. Foreigners destine for sacrifice or harbingers of change. I’m starting to think change isn’t a good thing.
Everyone wants to change Echo. Psychos are the only kind of people that talk about it openly. I find it unfortunate that Psychos tend to have better odds. I took a big bet getting over here. I’d be wise to get out while I’ll still be breaking even. Curiosity might be what kills me, in fact it’s very likely it will be. Psycho’s rule over control. Psycho’s rule over chaos. I want to be somewhere in the middle. Foolishly I struggle to find safety. Low and behold no matter what motivations I have that danger comes after me. A sword of Damocles. I’m running.

Chapter 20Two
New Years Week

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Winston and bubble gum spun each other round. The gang had gather atop the roof of a convenience store in the 9th District. They pump their arms in the air and shouted collectively. Rance; -the skeleton- turned up the volume. Thunder roared. A Korean ma-ma and her row of ugly ducklings shielded themselves from the storm with news papers as they made their way home. Tiny flames hung outside door frames- cigarettes in the mouths of dregs. The gutters filled up. A bassist on stimulants stimulated the crowd as they stomped against the roof. Casey and Rheic sat on the ledge and fluxuated between half content smiles and contemplative stares.
The first firework sped up toward the sky. Rance- the skeleton - lit a piece of paper with a cheap lighter and stuck it onto the fuse. A high pitched whistle sprang out of the tiny rocket. Tiny waves formed into side the puddles as they danced. Violet, yellow, tangerine, fire. Ignited confetti. Winston and Bubble Gum laughed loudly. Jump. Jump. Lightning struck a mile away. Zeus through back everything Mars sent up. Smite rained down. A war of independence long forgotten attacked the sky. Bubble gum ran up to Casey and tried to pull him of the ledge for a dance but Casey touched his wound and declined politely.
“I’m bored.” Said Rheic. Casey nodded back at the sentiment.
Rance -the vampire- opened up an umbrella. He took a pack of cigarettes out of a plastic bag in his back pocket. The vampire bent down on one knee and lit his cancer stick on the burning fuse of a confetti rocket. The thing took flight and swam upstream to meet with the other explosions. Short lived infernos inside an upside down whirlpool. The whole city became sparks. Lights from the windows in the business district switched on and off in rapid secession. The skeleton stood beside the wounded resting on the edge of the roof. “It’s hard not to laugh sometimes.” Said Rance with a smirk as he look down at Casey. “I don’t know how you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Look at them. You did this Tristan. People love you.”
“Hey Rance.” Casey looked over at Rheic who was unaware that he’d been shivering for the last hour. “Could you walk Rhei back home?”
“Sure.” Rance held his hand out to Rheic. They skirted the side of the building careful not to interrupt the dancing and descended down a few short latters. The fire escape creaked and Rheic crossed his arms to try and shake off the shivers. Graphiti clung to the walls around them. Graphiti of a higher quality than what you’d see on most streets. Rance walked as close as he could to Rheic, trying to shield him from the rain with his umbrella without being to patronizing. Rheic sneezed and a waterlogged amplifier crashed to the ground as the people above cheered. I look of despise manifested in Rheics sleepless eyes.
The misty streets were filled with yelling. People carried each other arms across their backs, making loud declarations and resolutions, swearing meaningless oaths on their red cheeks, celebrating the last time before the first time and striking matches where ever the rain wasn’t. A rocket ran into the side of a building and showered the street lamps with yellow embers. Rheic help his head. He felt his pulse beat inside his brain, his skull desperately trying to contain the overabundance of blood. He leerily examined clusters of lovers and people happy just to be lucky one night out of the year. He sniffled and his eye lids grew heavy.
“Just a little farther.” Said Rance. They’d slowed down considerably. Rheics legs dragged further and further behind him. Soon enough night had fallen and the rain calmed down to a drizzle. The streets had transformed from the flat stone slabs of 9th into the paved bricks of 8th, all the while Technicolor fire cascaded beyond the telephone wires. Rhei coughed and veered away from the street. Rance closed his umbrella and stood patiently as Rehic dragged himself to the side to rest.
An Asian man in a trench coat sat on the steps leading up to some low end apartments. Short cut black hair that faded to the scalp around his ears. Rheic limped over and let his legs collapse a stair below the man’s shoe lances. He raised a sharp eye brow and tossed a piece of gum in his mouth. He leaned back and said “You don’t look like you belong here.”
“What do you mean?” Rheic’s tone was uncharacteristically vicious. The detective caught hints of frustration flowing from an alien source. He was reminded of something he’d come to regret, it made him bite down on his tongue. He grabbed the gum from his mouth and squeezed it.
“I mean you don’t look like a killer kid.”
“Oh.” Rheic whipped the snarl from his face.
“Is something eating you?”
“I’m just tired man.” I can’t think of anything worse than spending another night on this garbage heap. I hate this body. I hate this man.
“Why don’t you get out of here?” Said the detective.
“Am I not welcome?” Rheic pushed a seed down his throat and his eyes went wide.
“No. No you are. Echo City loves people like you. It’s just how it loves us.” The detective stood up and dusted his knees with the magazine he’d been reading. “Take it easy.” Fuck you suit.

_______________________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Up you go.” Said Rance as he hoisted Rehic up the stair case. “Jesus man move your legs a little. I don’t want to drag you up there. I don’t even think I could.” Rehic’s shoe came apart from his limp ankle. Rance dragged him up another step. “Will you!” He said in frustration. “What’s even the point.” He dropped Rehic carelessly onto the steps and sat beside him. Rehic looked at his baby sitter through strands of damp, unwashed hair. He watched him light a cigarette and fiddle with his Communications Card.
“Who are you calling?” Rheic asked in a dull and vacant kind of way.
“I’m getting a medic. You’re fucking oozing sap.”
“Oh.”
“Hey Rhei.” The thin man puffed on his vice in an extravagant manner. Raised his pinky a bit as white smoke dance about his fingers and filtered up into his nose. “You want to know my secret?”
“Yeah.”
“One of them’s fake.” Rance knocked on his chest like you’d knock on a door. Rheic coughed and a few tiny leafs not to dissimilar to the kind you’d find adorning on Bonsai tree hopped out of his mouth. A look of pity spilled onto Rance’s face. He summoned the strength to help the poor sap all the way up and into his empty apartment. Rance dropped the cigarette on the floor and turned the heel of his boot over it. He went to drag Rheic into his bed but the sap said no. He mumbled. Pointed to the shower. The sound of rain hitting the window. The sound of steam and warm water blasting out of the shower head. The sound of rockets and guns. Distant cheering. Dogs barking.
A parrot squawked somewhere from beyond the thin walls. A murky color bleed through the dust covered window which was faintly offset by the dim yellow of the lamp on Rheic’s night stand. Rance occupied the space at the center of the empty space that the sick man called home. Rance stood with his back turned to the shower with his hands in his pockets. His shoulders stiffened like a frightened cat when Rheic began to speak.
“It’s little things that make me feel like I’m not human anymore.” His voice was a soft rasp the acoustics of which struggled to make it out of a small forest inside his throat. “Like how when I cry it’s only my nose that leaks.” That ghostly whisper tipped out of the sick man’s throat and reverberated around the empty space. A tense moment of nothing but atmosphere. Small noises and running water. “I’d like it better if it wasn’t cut out.”
“What are you talking about?” Rance said impatiently.
“My lungs.”
“Well then.” Rance crossed his arms with his back turned to the shower still.
“Who’d you kill Rance?”
“Nobody. I’m sixth generation.”
“Oh.”
“It’s more common in Xanadu. Assholes don’t come over there.” Rance tapped his foot. A tick he’d never had until now. “There’s not much over there so asshole don’t come by too much and asshole don’t tend to stay there either.”
“I didn’t know there was a Xanadu.”
“You did.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. You used to know a lot of things.” For a few minutes they said nothing. The absence of words had mad a feeling of urgency grow in Rance. It did nothing for the plant piloting Rheic. “I guess you’ll be all right.” Rance felt his bone start to itch. “I’ll just leave it to you then. I’m not your mom.” So he left.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Both moons hung in the sky. The clouds had opened up enough to allow them to be observed. They cast a wrathful din over the celebration. Rance strode back to his usually haunt with his hands in his pockets. He kicked a can down the street, it clanked by groups of people smoking until it fell in a puddle of vomit. The gaunt man sneered inwardly. How wasteful. Booming in the air. Thunder. Fire.
Rance made his way to a pedestrian overpass. Headlights glowed- twisted in the dark of the highway below. His finger wrapped around the chain link fencing. He pulled a half eaten pack of cigarettes from his pocket. His nerves started to settle back into their favorite positions. Rance switch back from manual to autopilot and let the lingering feeling of concern drift out of him like a ghost. He focused his eyes on the fence and the highway blurred into a calming- hypnotic vista of luminous orbs swimming down stream.
“Happy New Year buddy.” A familiar voice came from over his shoulder.
“Buddy? That’s new.” Rance turned about to see the detective standing to his left in a soaked long coat.
“It’s hard to keep track of it all. Big wars are starting up again.”
“You heard then.” Rance puffed on his smoke. Looked slightly to his right and then made full eye contact with the detective. The man in the long coat could help but grimace. He’d never looked into Rance straight- eye to eye. He saw something terrible. A bit of Rance that gave a shit and that bit of him was all sorts of torn up by what had happened in Xanadu.
“I’ll let you know if I learned something about you’d want to hear.”
“Thanks I guess.” Some people walked between them. They slurred their words and shuffled their feet stupidly as they laughed toward the next bar. Thunder bellowed in the black sky.
“Is you’re friend going to be all right?”
“Honestly I think that guy’s dead already.”
“That’s shit.”
“Yeah it is.” The ember in his hand burned down closer to his unkempt finger nails.
“It looks like a big move. Half the biker gangs. The Zaibatsu. All the smaller Corps. They want control over their districts. Undisputed distribution rights. They’re gunning for the president.”
“What about the emperor?”
“He’s up there.” The detective pointed up a phobos.
“I know where the fuck he is. Don’t be cheeky.”
“Well I don’t have a crystal ball and nobody paid me to figure it out.”
“I’m sure he’d more than happy to help.”
“You.” Said the detective. He pointed a finger. “You might want to lay low.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Rance through burning butt of his cigarette down onto the ground and turned his boot over the ember. “Happy New Year.” He put his hands in his pockets. The nerves in his shoulders felt uncomfortable as he turned his back on the detective and walked away. His eye twitched slightly. The moons observed the scene with malice and glee.
_______________________________________________________________________________

“Tristan. Hey. Tristan.” Winston waved a hand in front of Casey’s face. Casey slapped it away after six passes.
“You see that.” Casey pointed into the black night.
“I can’t say I do. Are you on a trip right now?” Casey put a finger to his mouth as a signal for him to be quite and listen. From atop the roof the two of them search the air around the building for the source of that sound. It donned on Winston- what that sound was. Motor cycles. Approaching.
“Get everyone off the ground floor.” Said Casey in a stern monotone voice. Winston nodded. He ran down the steps while dialing a number on his Card.
The sounds of motors burning black smoke out of their sides got closer. The wheels spun with every chug of the engine. Red knives on the back of leather jackets. All at once they were there. They circled around the building and magnetic flashes blasted against them from every direction. They hid under the windows. Scrambled up the stairs. Casey fired into the pack. A few bullets were sent out by the others down in the second story. Both gangs yipped and hollered. Screamed.
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Deep beneath the city iron wheels turned. A thousand corpses spend down a tunnel. Blood oozed into the bottom of a cart. Eyes looked up at series of lights as the whirred past the pile of murders. He had no tongue. The gears in his shoulders had been broken to bits. The machine’s voice echo in the underworld- bounced back in a recursive yawn against the endless path to oblivion. Inside the rusted caves, a grave that made him wish he could die sooner. He could smell but couldn’t scream. He could see until the blood poured over his eyes. It breached his nostrils. He’d drown there at the bottom of the cart. The weight of the limps atop him pushing at the air he’d tried to keep. A red bubble popped. The wheels spun onward.
__________________________________________________________________________________

“No.” Winston whimper. His hand holding his friends head in his lap. His forehead dripped red down onto his big ears. His eyes looked straight into the black night. The rain. “No.” Casey’s feet splashed up water out of the puddles in front of their pop den. He was taking measured murderous steps toward one of the Red Knives that’d fallen off his bike after being shot in the shoulder. “Tristan they killed Chester!” He moaned. A haunting guttural moan. “Why! No.”
Casey stood over the biker. They looking into each other. Equally horrified and filled with fury. Casey’s gun cut open the man’s cheek. Blood marked the path he’d dragged himself in a desperate attempt to flee. It was mixing with the bleach that fell from the sky. The only reason blood stains didn’t stick around. The whole town would have been as red as the sand if not for that. Casey stuck the barrel of his gun into the man’s eye. Pushed. Down. A horrifying sound. Pop.

Chapter TWen-T3
Callous-Calligraphy

It was the Martian New Year. A celebration that lasted weeks. I was in awe. The earnest love of life I’d found on this planet that mirrored men and women chasing death. People from all walks of life spoke with candor and reverence for their world. Even as grenades were flung down stair wells. Between desperate biting and panicked breaths. As lovers pointing guns at one another. The fireworks kept going off. Chinese dragons moved through the streets. I took heavy gulps of strange medicines. Found myself a drunk as could be in the least peaceful parts of the city.
Before the locals call me soft- before I read the articles where I’d be described as a “Pink Lung Propagandist.” I must make it clear that I don’t doubt there are pockets of tranquility in Echo city. I know them quite well. I’m sure that while I was tumbling through news paper stands in blind animalist curiosity- that when I was removed from Toa Noodle for starting a fight with a pregnant woman’s husband for reasons I can not longer remember- that during the week of fire I was usually the most disharmonious creature within a one mile radius. I’m sure you’re Mars is beautiful but the one I saw was visceral.
Yes my new year started out with a bang (see Link here) and I’m sure yours did too.
This place is littered with causes and complications we can’t begin to understand. A thousand overlapping reasons and reactions that always end in a bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Until my eyes get burned white. Flashes of fire that get swept into the gutter. Shell casings sit rusting in red mud and I feel like I’m spent. Now that I know what to expect, now that I’ve dreamed all my dreams - I can’t sleep.
I’ve seen bodies left out in the street. I’ve seen fire works above them.

Callous-Calligraphy

__________________________________________________________________________________
Daren placed his feet onto the floor. His mattress squeaked and he began to hold his head. There was a ringing in his ear. The filter pumping air into his throat whirred as small fans spun around the tubes. A grotesque sound the product of the suction in take valve being removed from his throat reverberated through his empty room.
“Ma-Ma-ma-Aster.” The head of Daren’s sexbot stuttered from its perch on the end of his night stand.
“Is Mars killing you too hun.”
“I believe I require ma-ma-maintenance S-sirrrweaa.” It’s speech slowed and its voice became unsettling. Daren remember when toys ran on batteries. Had a flash back of a time that’d been demolished long ago. In the fog of a memory Daren saw the construction work. His short legs ran atop the peddles of a bicycle as he dodged pot holes. There was yellow tape around every other yard. Big construction cranes and four legged droids with jackhammers. He’d left his bike in the yard. The wheel still spinning as he walked into his child hood home. His mother and father were yelling again. There were a few suit cases by the door.
Daren swallowed. His throat stung. He remembered the droid that told him he’d been orphaned. Remembered this mother carrying him on her shoulders and screaming at the machines before she fell limp from a sedative. Tears and drool on the carpet. He began to sob, both in the memory and in the present. His finger nails cut into to his forehead as he gripped his head in anguish and aggravation. I hadn’t wanted this hour to be filled with those kinds of thoughts. He never wanted to go back there. He bit the inside of his cheek and regained some composure.
He glanced at the droids head on the nightstand through soggy sleepless eyes. He’d had dreams between ten minute dips into unconsciousness. He’d had sharp quick visions that’d felt all too real. He’d loved her. Swapped her parts month after month. The head by his bed side had once been a make shift mother. He’d resented it. He’d loved it. It’d been the only constant in a very lonely life. At times- most times it was capable of more humanity than the real people he’d come to know. He’d flown solo for so long, been inside the empty cornucopia. He thought of his wife. He coughed.
His Com-Card started to ring. I was Lance.
“Hey it’s Lance.” His old friend’s voice filled the empty room. Reverberated slightly amongst the bits of floating dust.
“I know who it is.” His voice was raspy. Strained.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m not. Holding up.”
“Right. I’ve been thinking. Let’s get out of here man. Let’s come back down to earth.”
“No.”
“The fuck do you mean? No? After everything? After the other day?”
“I told you I’m here to die. It’s going to happen anyway and I don’t want to die alone.”
“You never told me that. Besides we’ll both go.”
“I have a wife.”
“Bring her too.”
“I don’t want to raise my kids on earth.”
“What?! What the fuck is wrong with you man?!” Lance’s voice shook with weakness and confusion. Daren thought it best to black list his number. The conversation abruptly ended with the push of a button. Daren grabbed his inhaler out of the drawer. The compressed compounds hissed out of the thing. Vapors settled in his throat.

“Yeah. Good. I need to talk to you too. Yeah. I love you Clair. See you soon.”

His heart stopped. Cherry nails holding a positive pregnancy test. Cherry nail holding a deceased gentleman.

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They passed by a pack of hookers. One was wearing a golden chain mail dress. She had her leg exposed, nearly stepping in front of on coming traffic. A pink heel glowed against the head lights. This was a mood Lance had never had the privilege of seeing. The old man was full of vigor. He hadn’t yet noticed just how primal that face of his could be. It was still noble in the same way a snarling wolf was noble. Lance stole glances at the fangs in Wischard’s face. A toothpick rose and fell with every angry motion of the old man’s jaw.
At a red light Lance looked away from the road. “Damn it Darren answer the phone.” Lance threw a fist a the steering wheel. The light turned green. The color of cream came out of the street lamps- it passed over them one after another- it snaked its way around the polished hood of his convertible and illuminated their solemn faces. Lance turned a knob. The radio started up. DO THE DANCE DO DANCE DANCE DANCE.
“Turn that fucking shit off.” The old man demanded. Lance obliged. They approached only building on Mars built with gothic architecture in mind. It loomed over the slums. Judged all from the highest point. The tallest building on Mars that loomed over the city of Echo like Big Ben once did in old London. The old man slammed the door to Lance’s Vulture. The window rolled down. Lance tipped his shades. “Keep it running?”
“Keep it running.” Marquis’s voice was boiling over with a rich blend of frustrations. It made the timber of every syllable he spoke shine like the point of a dagger. The statue of a saint looked down on them from on high. Half of the saint’s face was light by the glow of the tower. A rosary made of stone. Thirty two steps to the doors. Marquis panted. His hands on his knees. He straightened his back and walked past the pillars. Grotesques carved into every corner of the room. It’s wide ceiling that hung high. The place seemed as if it were designed for giants or gods. Crucifixes stared down at him as he dragged himself from one end of the large room toward the elevator.
The president stood waiting next to the golden doors. He tossed his cigarette onto obsidian floor. He didn’t even bother to put it out. He turned his back on Marquis. The doors opened and he waited for his old friend to enter first. Outside Lance broke his pinky thrashing his hand against the dashboard of the Vulture. His Card blinked. He bit the steering wheel. The old man reached into one of his many pockets. There was nothing there to grasp, it was a nervous tick of his. The president of mars who was presently beside him in the elevator flicked his lighter open and shut, alternating between lighting it before closing the lid and not. “Must you!” Marquis said in annoyance.
“Yes.” The president didn’t look up from the empty space he’d been thinking in below his tie.
The fucking nerve. The old man thought to himself. A few moments of silence. The elevator stopped. Marquis waited for the doors to open but they stayed shut. “What’s the meaning of this!” His ancient hunched back stiffened and he turned to the president. The center of his eyes turned into pinholes and his sharp teeth folded out of his beard.
“We have to wait our turn.” The lighter flipped open. Lit. The old man through himself against John Farewell. He was easily pushed away. The president laughed.
“You think this is funny!?” The president looked down on the old man with a raised eyebrow. He tried to regain his composure- he’d wanted to answer the question with the dignity he believed Marquis deserved but he couldn’t. He spit past his lips trying to contain a jiggle. Then he laughed without any though. The old man looked up- furious, confused, helpless. Farewell wiped a single tear away from his eye.
“Part of it is.” He jiggled slightly. The old man turned to face the door. He stood their with a scowl on his face for some time.

*talk about the echo tower and then they leave the elevator.

_________________________________________________________________

“That’s exactly your problem!” Marquis roared into the microphone. “You’ve got twenty years until those rooms are empty! Filled with skeletons at best! You think a dozen A-sexual abominations can rule over our home!? It’s us. The Exiled that will-” The old man’s keys shook violently as he vocalized some indecipherable wail of fury. “We are Humanity! You’re fucking death cult-” The contents of orators stand flew about as he kicked it to the floor. “This is your last chance to compromise! You hear that!”
The formal president of Mars cut the mic to let Joseph Strelyat CEO of Caspian Genomics address the Martian council. Mr.Strelyat in his pressed grey suite didn’t flinch. “I don’t see why we should Sir Wischard. Why cant you be satisfied with Mars alone? Your efforts would be better spent on removing the bleach from the soil.” Mr.Strelyat eye’s flared with cruelty.
The formal president of Mars pressed a button behind his name plate. “Surely it’d be in the best interest of humanity and what ever humanity is to become to share in the home world, at least in some measured way. Yes? You can never have to many fail safes. Imagine you are met with unforeseen complications.”
“Mr.President I’m quite confident in my companies’ product.” Mr.Strelyat’s remark sent the old man into another flurry of vicious snarls that just barely could be heard through the presidents mic. Marquis exited the large chamber of the Golden Lions Hearing Room with Josephs cat like eyes radiating heat like the gaze of the ever onto his back. The oversized gate opened to the roof of the Echo Tower. The old man struck a match off one of the stone gargoyles that sat atop the railing. He puffed on a cigarette four times. Looked out at the skyline. Orbs of fire shimmered through the highways, fell from the sky towards the space port. His sharp teeth punctured the filter of his cancer stick. Vomit. It fell down from the highest office in the land. Droplets of sickly humanity twisted in the black of night. Honesty.

Meanwhile in some dive above a bar Rheic and Tristan lay inert against nicotine stained walls. Music droned from a small speaker somewhere amongst the throw pillows and litter surrounding them. A lava lamp ploomed in warm green, it turned in the glaze of Tristan’s half open eyes. In a dull, empty voice “Rhei. I can’t feel anything anymore.” Rheic didn’t respond. The music beat down the empty room. “Rhei. Kill me.” Rheic sluggishly flopped onto his knee and wiped the drool from his bottom lip. Tristan pulled his revolver out of his belt and tossed it on the floor. Snare, kick, splash. “This song won’t end Rhei.” Snare, kick kick. Rehic looked at his friend dumbly. His eyes sagged a bit more as his jaw went limp again. “What my name Rhei?” Their stupid looking faces twisted slightly, the tinniest sparks of emotion made their cheeks twitch almost imperceptibly. Rehic’s hands went around the other ones neck.

Chapter 24

Rose of Jericho

The red moon. That’s where all the blood goes. A planet made exclusively out of first generation murderers and second generation prostitutes. Where the sky always bleeds. I look upwards at the turning orange puss in the morning and quiver. I have that shiver everyday before I strike the first match. Something in me remembers and recognizes the awful majesty of the human mind. With reverence and fear for the monster we make together I sip my black coffee. I regret how I came to be here. I regret it the most when I take that first sip. I leave circular stains on my news paper. Scan the page for my new favorite column. A terran tourist who goes by Callous Calligraphy. A rare breed. Someone who paid for his ticket. I wonder how long he’ll stay. On mars or amongst the living.

I hear a big dog bark. The lady upstairs puts her arms out to catch a shattering plate. Her lover, another woman. Two shrieking banshees. Tragedy and Fury. That’s the names I’ve given them. A long time ago they’d given me their real name. I reached down and pet their big dog. A good boy. Their scarred cheeks smiled politely. Haven’t spoken a word to them in years. They’re just a bunch of racket. I looked out my blinds. A brink had crashed through my window last night. I don’t know why. I barely care. You can tell how much I don’t care. The dust on my coach. Fuck me. This place is empty.

I don’t care much that the stair case in hall is missing a few steps and I don’t blink when I open my front door and slip out from the middle of profane graphite that ran it over before I bought the place. It’s seven AM so I exit the asshole and give one skip down to the second floor. The bell keep tries to speak mandarin. I don’t know much of it but I know he’s saying it all wrong. I might be Asian but I’m from earth. He might be Chinese but I’m pretty sure his mother drank his lips stupid. He hit’s the bell himself. Tries to make small talk with a crooked smile. I’ll humor him most days but not right now. Right now I need to find someone with a problem.

I hear a few gun shots. The power cables in the alley sway. I drop a copper coin in a can as I pass a vagrant. Its hot out. It gets hot when the moons hang about in the day. The burning atmosphere and the bleached stand whip about. It’s like we build a city in hell. What else we’re we going to do? If I could help it I’d only be out at night. There’s this lingering instinct that makes us act irrational. There’s no reason to wait for day, the sunlight is ugly. It illuminates mistakes. A world of pure imperfection. I don’t want to see the hookers in full visibility. Those sunken eyes almost look pretty when there’s some shade around them. I guess sometimes it can’t be helped. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and chew it incessantly. I need to get my mouth moving before I start asking questions.

The four of them were taking turns putting their legs out into traffic. It seems they’d yet to earn enough to return to the flat without getting smacked down. Perfect timing. Rusted trucks and cargo rovers passed between me and the information. A golden dress shimmered like cheap chain mail covered in glitter. The red clouds bent against skyscrapers and exposed rebar. I tucked my shirt in and began to cross the street. My pace was about to speed up as foot dropped over the curb. I felt something tug on my wrist.

A boney bag of shit in a black shirt looked down into my eyes from gaunt sockets. A mass of unkempt void colored locks soaked with sweat. His cigarette singed a bit of hair in front of his lips. My hand recoiled from his in disgust.
“What’s the rush Jackie?” His breath was rotten.
“Can we do this some other time?” I stuck my hands in my pockets. Red mud splashed against our lets as a freighter passed- horn blearing.
“What was that?”
“I said I’m busy.”
“Looking to get busy?” The emaciated man pointed toward the street girls.
“No. I’m busy-busy. With what? I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Ok.” Said the ghoul. “But maybe I want to be busy too.”
“Spit it out.” I straightened my neck tie.
“You seen that big bounty on the Russian. Well Gregory used to haunt with us in 9th Ward.”
“Tell me more pop-head.”
“He’s slipped off the radar and people don’t do me favors unless they have to. The fact of it is I got burned by that slimy fuck around new years. Even if I knew where he was I couldn’t take mine alone.”
“So point me in the right direction.”
“What’s it worth to you Jackie?”
“Sorry pal. I can give you a stick of gum. That’s about it.”
“I want half.” Said the skeleton. I reached for a stick of gum and broke it in half. “Very funny.”
“Rance what makes you think we’ll even get this job halfway to done?”
“I know things the agencies don’t. They come into streets they don’t know to watch for a day. I watch the block all year round.”
“Ok you’ve got an hour.”

I lifted up the pokadot curtains that hung just beyond the door. Newspaper clippings and framed photos filled the spaces between the chipped stone walls which had been painted a light burgundy. A long counter top with black velvet bar stools and classic dining booths. I was reminded of a pre-millennium painting. There in the back was a group of three. A man with a bandaged chest- drops of blood poking out between crossing layers of medical tape. He looked rather somber. His chin rested on his fist as his girl traced the spots of blood with her finger and made remarks of admiration between chewing bubble gum. He noticed me distantly but seemed to pay no more mind then when I’d walked through the door as I approached.

I placed my business card atop a half empty bottle of beer in front of him.
“I’ve got a genuine bad ass.” said the woman not looking up from the man. Bubble gum popped. Her eyes reflective and wide. I coughed in my collar to try and wake them up.
“You want something?” Tristan whispered hoarsely. He grabbed my card and spun it around between his fingers before it flipped right side up.
“There’s a bounty out for a recent arrival. A Russian who wears a big hat. You were on the same flight manifest. Six months back- I’m hoping beyond hope that someone can give me a hint. Do you remember him?”
“I don’t remember much of anything.”
“What about you? Have either of you seen this man?” I flashed a holograph of the man. Waved my hand in front of the chick to try and break the trance.
“Honey. What does the suit want with Gregory?” The chick didn’t look at me.
“Listen guy.” Said Tristan. “I don’t know who this is but I’ve got enough problems.”
“Sir.” I cleared my throat. “This guy is everyone’s problem.” I pulled up the bounty letter on the holograph. “The man kills people with modifications. He makes no distinctions and he hasn’t got any big friends. In fact the bounty has been pooled by rival factions. You don’t see the Chinese working with Busters often.”
“Honey, this guy’s really killing the mood. Lets get out of here.”
“Miss you’ve seen this man? Can I ask you-” Her dude caught me in the gut. His fist pushed the bile in my empty stomach up into my throat. I felt my left foot fall out from under me and then heard forks and spoons clatter against my face and a plate French fries.

The two of them got gone. When they left I sat around and drank coffee very slowly. I was down to a dozen silver pieces and each cup was going to burn two of them. I’d figured since the chick knew the target then this might be the best place to ask questions. The waitress had a lot to say when I asked her but none of it had been relevant. A big guy sat next to me. Quiet guy. Huge guy. If only I was a big guy, if only I could get paid to stand around looking big. He shrugged. A couple of fruitless hours later I left. Only one coin in my pocket. I’ll check back with that chick when she’s off the pop. The best coarse of action for now would be to tail some highly modded folk. Just hope I see him hunting in one of the markets.

__________________________________________________________________________________

I looked up the chick. Cross chained photos from sweaty dive bars. Her dude began to make waves a bit ago. The music sounds like puke but the photos make it look exciting. I’d put together the idea I could get to her when she gets desperate for pop. I know a ghoul in a black shirt who’s bound to know when and where. I popped a slab of gum into my jaw. Morning fluttered in through the cracks in the market. I switched my Com-Card to soft mode. My stomach growled. Looking over the railing I watched them set up cashmere carpets and tent poles in the bazaar. Electric Alley. I could ask a few questions down here and maybe get a few answers.
Grungy looking prosthetics were usually worn by grungy looking people. The kind to lose an arm were usually the kind to cut one off. A vicious cycle. I’d had the pleasure of seeing some high end work at a strip-cade a couple years back. The Emperor and the President had a soft war. Espionage, revenge, straight up assassination, and reporters looking for the big scoop on all of it. Those days paid well. I pissed it all away. A few chop docs walked pass me with their hands in their lab coats. One of the eggheads had to be taking pawn parts.
_______________________________________________________________________________

“Hey! Wake up bitch.” Rance shoved her gently. “Wake up!” She fell onto her side. I squatted down and put her wrist under my thumb.
“She’s still got a pulse.”
“What a drag man. She’s not coming back anytime soon.”
“Looks like you’ve wasted everyone’s time.”
“Bubblegum you’re a rude bitch.”
“I was talking about you, Rance.”
The two of us trotted out of the barren ruins of ninth sector. I paid no mind to the zombie walking behind me. I’d fully intended to hail a cab and close the door in his face. I didn’t have a dime to my name. So I started thinking of less dramatic ways of getting rid of the dead weight. Then the bastard grabbed the cuff of my coat. We stopped in the alley. We were at an impasse. We could each see the hunger behind each others eyes. He did some calculations in his head as I stared into him.
“I can call in a favor.”
“You mean.” I bit inside of my cheek. “You could have done that all along?”
“It’s not something I’d want to ask of him.”
“Who?”
“Look I’m going to go talk to a friend of mine. He can tap the cameras around here.”
“And who’d risk their life like that for you?”
“I’m not telling you that creep.” That was fair enough. “Go wait at the deli. I’ll be back in two hours.” He made a V out of his fingers.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Me and the skeleton pulled a manhole cover of the pavement. The crowbar ran straight across my palm when the slab of metal gave way. I wrapped my tie around my wound as Rance pulled the metal away from the hole. He didn’t have to say anything. I could tell by the content glare we split between us. 50. 50. The smell of chlorine and decomposite acids over powered the scent of shit and urine. We walked beside the river of waste on the thin walk ways meant for the maintenance crews. I found a switch box that controlled the lights. Beside that was a hardhat with a head lamp. I had to explain to Rance that we’d have better luck finding what we were looking for if we found the parts of the maze that already had the lights on and that we might scare away the target if they found the place lit up.
We turned a corner and came across a grate used to sift off larger object from the river of piss. A dozen horseshoe crabs were crawling over each other as the stream pressed against their shells. Spindly limbs and claws reached out and pulled on one another. Disgusting. Just then we heard a clanking sound. We turned to see another head lamp shine against the other end of the maze. We ducked behind a corner and switched of the bulb. I peeked out to see an elderly Korean ma-ma grabbing the crabs out of the dregs and putting them into a wicker basket. Disgusting. Rance and I had a rare moment of solidarity after she left.
“I’m a big fan of living on the cheap.” said Rance “but fuck that. I think I’m going to throw up.”
“You know I haven’t eaten in three days.”
“me neither.”
“Despite that, Strangely, I feel like I’ve lost my appetite.”

It was a long while until we found what we were looking for- but we did find it. The lights on the ceiling light up suddenly. Too bright too fast. We ran back the way we came and ducked against the pipes and dials at a small switching station. I was begging god for luck. The red water bubbled chunks of black and brown. Nothing was left up to the imagination now the torches were lit. We crouched, tried not to breath to loudly. The anticipation was agonizing. Ten minutes went by- Eleven. Then a distant dragging sound. Small wheels spinning. Metal crates on an electric wheelbarrow. Greased chains and spokes sped past us. Putrid air splashed against my nose as it whizzed past. I snapped a picture. I saw a limp limb hanging from the cart and a figure in a fur hat sitting atop the cargo. We didn’t have any time to waste. We ran after Gregory- following the lights on the ceiling as they shut off in secession above us. We were losing ground. The lights died ahead of us. One after the other.
We could only hope in the dark we’d been led close enough. To where? To what? I didn’t know. We were both running on empty. Sweating as we ran through the acrid fumes of the sewer. A glamorous life. There. A light at the end of the tunnel- there! We approached with caution. I un-strapped the gun from my ankle and shoved it at Rance. Checked the cylinder on my preferred pistol. We took quite side steps toward electronic music. Cyrillic words bopped around the synthetic sounds. I wiped my forehead with the necktie wrapped around my hand. Closer still. We saw crates pilled onto a platform in the water. It was the intersection where all paychecks flow- from the bars, to the urinals, to this great maelstrom.
Gregory shook his head rhythmically. Beeps and beats made his fur hat jump and slide. Rance whispered.
“We check the room. Take the shot.” He trained his gun on the fur hat. We stepped closer to the end of the passage. Bodies were piled onto rusted shelves. Bunk beds for the dead. Moscow sang over the sound of an electric bone saw. Big medical lamps surrounded the target. Blood flicked off a pair of tongs. A wrench dove into a chest cavity beyond the white sheet. I checked the left, Rance checked the right. He was all alone and wanted dead or alive. We exchanged a flicker between blinks and took aim. Two shots rang out in the same second. The big fur hat took flight. Gregory hit the ground. The moment our shoulders began to loose tension the Russian scrambled behind a metal crate. Two-Three more shots. We missed.

A bang. A chunk of the wall behind me broke away and fell into the current. I ran and slid behind the vehicle he’d used to transport the bodies. Gregory yelled in Russian. Rance tried to weave through the crates. Bang! He missed. Bang! Gregory shot back. Rance got caught in the arm. He pressed himself against cover. He tried to stop himself from leaking as his essence coated his hand and spilled over the trigger. Gregory’s next shot ricocheted and snagged the limb of a dead borg. A couple fingers tumbled onto the floor. Rance Gulped in anguish.

I snatched him up by his shirt. We turned each other round and round. Scalpels and bone saws scattered on the ground. We fell off the platform and punched the shit filled water. Bastard broke my nose. Kicked my chest. Distance was made between us. He howled in anger as I pressed against the boot print on my dress shirt. Rance jumped into the slick mess behind him. We through ourselves at him with reckless abandon. Rance stuck a scalpel into his kidney. I got pushed back and slid with the current before I found my footing and charged back into the fray. Blood and red shit hung in the air. Droplets scattered and a water logged boot crashed into Rance’s face. And then-

It was the damndest thing. Flowers started to bloom. The water around us turned green. A pungent neon green. I saw violets spring out of their mouths. Gargled screams between rapidly growing leaves. It was like a scene from jack and the bean stalk. It was unexpected to say the least. The gore leaked out of the trees. Those trees reached for each others throats. The bodies in the boxes exploded into a mess of wires and leafs. Flesh colored mushrooms popped and reformed only to pop again. I felt the earth shake. Rapture. Of coarse I’d be left behind when god called. Alerts on my Com-Card filled up the screen. Then the lights went out and all there was- was the sound of water and darkness.

Twenty Five

Melt

He took the body out to the Martian Ocean. He dropped it in the sand just at the edge of the waves. He felt nothing. He’d been possessed by the ghost of who he’d once been. Everything was automatic. He was a calculator with an agenda. He stood there for hours. Horse shoe crabs made there way to Casey’s flesh. Different shades of blood from above and below stared back at him from the horizon. Those horrible creatures made a meal out of him. All the beauty in this place came from the faces, he’d thought that line once long ago but not now. Now strange beasts were taking small bites out of Casey’s cheeks. They swarmed over him like sloths- like ants with brain damage - like hungry droids made out of broken parts.
Eventually he’d walk away. He marched straight, forward, turned at ninety degree angles. “The primary cause of the soft war had been the contested control of utilities.” He remembered. “Sanitation, the sewers, access to unbleached water.” The mammoth caldrons churned neon ooze. The giant sideways silos hummed inside the warehouse. “I’ll have you know, it took a number of years to get the president to install my hydro chemical remating modules.” In a state of zen. Blisters from ultra violet burns would burst along the sides of his arms. He turned a valve, the kind of value that offered resistance that would have proved arduous for two well build men. “From here the waters from the original Martian colony flow. A direct line to the currents of Echo city.” As the valve gave way his arm was pulled from it socket. Sweat sprayed from his pours as the machines began to gargle and spit. “When the time is right this will bring about a great rebirth upon Mars. “Just imagine forests. The desert slayed in a matter of weeks. A dangerous new nature. The daughter of Gia.”
The sound was deafening. His eardrums were bleeding. The heat in the warehouse steadily increasing. “We can build a heaven out of this hell. Stop with merely surviving and begin thriving.” He fell into a puddle of himself. He began to leak out everything he was, tears amongst the mess. The dials reverberated against red labels and flashing lights. Living green moss began to pour out into the ocean and creep up faucets in the city. Pipes would burst. Water sprayed out of broken fourth story windows. Those unlucky enough to drink from the tap began to feel their lungs beat against their ribs. In the first hour of the first day one hundred thousand Martians would split apart. Branches would tear through their throats. Golden Chain mail shattered by roots that breath. Long veins and violet flowers cut through the grave yards and displaced statues in the market square.
The most unfortunate thing to happen would be the rain. The rain assaulted every corner of the city. The second day brought chaos and calamity beyond that of the first. People bit and shot at each other. Struggled against the deadly clouds as they poured death. Bullets found necks and skulls beside broken vending machines. Bottles of sweet drink fell out of the hands of the murdered. After the rain had stopped, just before the second sunset- when the clouds phased away- blue sky. Clear blue sky over the moss covered ruins of an Echo. The sun fell and for a moment the sky went red again but the change had been made. Considerably less guns shots were to be heard in this hour. Killers stood of rooftops and breathed in the faint smell of cherry blossoms.

Songs by Tristan Elliot and the Pleasured Guilty

“Red Moon Melts”

Is it the way you count the hours
I’ve always wanted forty extra second
But I’ll settle for forty extra minutes

You know what it means to me
Face down swimmy in the ecstasy
Drown drown at the bottom of the rusted sea

Tell me why I’m here again.
Am I a broken man?
Well fuck I’m broke again!

Birth control is all I know
I’m from Earth girl
We don’t make babies only STDs

GO! You know I’ll be waiting
At your favorite dive
Live and in concert
Rocking and rolling
A Mars rover is me

I want the best for you
And the whole audience
Lets die happy and as a consequence
Of broken carbon filtrations

Of love making in the eroding wind
Of being nihilistic and hedonistic
And bitten
By the woes that spit
Back

Tell me why I’m here again
Didn’t have the best of plans
I sold myself and I sold you too
But its better and gets better
Than rotting beside some two second fling
That turned into two decade of nothing
(of nothing)

Put a space after my name
Because that’s where I’m going
First Mars then Saturn
And Pluto if its not snowing

Go! You know I’ll be waiting
At your favorite dive
If I survive
If its not snowing
-

“I’ll be your Coma”

In the empty. Paid for compliance.
Appliances raising idiots.
I’m one of those pieces of shit.
Just like a rose feeding on piss
Behind the isolation boxes
Windows to no where
Yeah its just dead air
No place for a double barrel name
A lost thought but no one’s thinking all the same

All my friends dreamt of sleeping all day
Love for living gave way too a six string played in slumbering
You’re screaming at night but I won’t wake you up
I got a big bottle of I don’t give a fuck

Blast off and up we go
In my lungs it starts to grow
I’ll knock you out with another bout of burning moonlight by the beach
Blast off and kill the concrete
Tear it up where the streets are empty
You don’t need to eat, on empty
Burn out, Rise and Shine
(A life long dream)
I’m living it so why should I sleep
Coma Coma Coma

Come here babe, Come here babe
Coma Slave
Is that blood
Don’t you love
The broken glass
How the party lasts until day break

“While we kick the back streets.”

Those guy’s with bikes like to fly.
Oh they get high like we get high while driving on by.
Those guy’s with bike like to cry.
Oh woe as me. Splinter in my thumb.

They go all night, they piss on graves.
While we kick the back streets.
I really hope you all get AIDS
Serves you right.
Yeah serves you right.
We kick the back streets.
Rev the motor. Suck a dick.
Their out killing kids just for kicks.
Watch out I’ll cut you’re fucking nuts.
Just because. You’re vomit.

Try and score. Try and fail.
Come on over let me tell you my tale.
About how some big boot bitch got fucked.
Try to muscle in- selling my drugs.

Yo fuck you dude. Sector nine apartment oh two.
Come and get me bitch. Busy sucking dick?
Come and get me bitch.

We kick the back streets.

Roll you’re wheels around. Looks like a clown.
What a limp prick.
You want some more shit stain?
I’ll pour you’re body down the drain.
You stupid bastard.
We kick the backstreets.
You stupid bastard.
We’ll kick all the cum you eat out of your guts you stupid slut.

We kick the backstreets.
FUCK THE RED KNIVES

____________________________________________________________________

“They don’t have to hide anything, really. Not when nobody is looking.”

_____________________________________________________________

Chapter X
A New Forum
Callous-Calligraphy: Maybe the problem with both our worlds was a complete lack of accountability.
Callous-Calligraphy: No. That’s an over simplification. I’d rather not have that misinterpreted.
Jellyman3000: They sent flights up yesterday. They’ve know about this for like a month now. Imagine being one of those unlucky bastards. They have no idea what they’re going to find when they get there. The whole net is freaking out about this. SpinGun did a bang up job posting it on the porn sites.
SpinGun: It’s not enough. But thank you.
Callous-Calligraphy: I’ve met some of them. Good simaritan egg heads landing a few of the ship but there are serval stuck in orbit. We’re still worried about a burn up. Hopefully when the ships don’t come back they wont beable to send more of them.
GylconTheGreat: Or Hide It From The Public
Callous-Calligraphy: They don’t have to hide anything, really. Not when nobody is looking
SpinGun: I’m starting to feel really disheartened about all this.
GylconTheGreat: They can build them faster than you can break them. That’s the real problem.
SpinGun: Well what do we do now? How long until communications break down?
Callous-Calligraphy: The satilights arent going anywhere. As long as we can maintain the infastructure on the ground it should be fine. That is a big “if” though.
GylconTheGreat: I’m fairly sure this was intentional sabatoage.
SpinGun: We can speculate on that later.
GylconTheGreat: Why not now? What can we do really?
SpinGun: That question does seem to come up a lot.
RossenVein: I’m down to speculate. Meet me in the other channel.
GylconTheGreat: It’s no fun if its just the two of us.
4strang: I’d imagine something similar happen after the Mars indepence declaration in 2977.
GylconTheGreat: How similar?
4strang: I don’t know.
SpinGun: You think this will be the second bildspot a thousand years from now?
GylconTheGreat: Everything’s a blind spot after a thousand year.
SpinGun: Don’t be that way. Blinder spot. Happy now?
MirrorMirror42: We could build our own space transit service.
SpinGun: That’s way to optimistic. I want to be optimistic.
4strang: LETS DO IT!
GylconTheGreat: Callous is there anything we can do?
Xraysnorkle: Let’s be realistic
Tapetooth: Lets not and say we did.
4strang: I say if we cant think of anything else then we should port a space make otherwise whats the point? Whats the point of any of this if we don’t do something?
SpinGun: Spreading the word is important. That said, I do agree with the sentiment on some levels.
Tapetooth: Just remember you’re not the hero in some movie.
Ledhammerjoker: Why?
MirrorMirror42: It’s a shame that political movements are completely toothless. I try very hard not to get angry about it/ I do think we can gather enough support dispite the indifferent main line press.
Xraysnorkle: I’ve been on the Com all day trying to get a hold of the engineers at the space ports.
Ledhammerjoker: But guys… Why?
Xraysnorkle: I’m starting to think they don’t exist.
MirrorMirror42: Why what? Specifically
WoestAin: I think its very important that we break the delusion.
Ledhammerjoker: Why do this. It seems intentional yes. But who benefits.
Xraysnorkle: It’s economic. An act of war to maintain supremecy. Same as 2977.
WoestAin: But our economies are completely separate.
MirrorMirror42: It’s a lot of effort to provide transport between worlds/ after the indepence movement the plan probably changed to that of cultural domination. This lines up pretty well actually. They’ve Terra-formed the planet and displaced any act of retaliation. The reason comuunications infrastucture was dismantled back then was probably in anticipation of a cultural override scenario by one faction or the other.
MirrorMirror42: You can expect E.M. media broadcast to start being pumped into Mars soon but I’m not so sure we’ll hear from Callous in the future.

Dingokeepr: You’re full of it.
MirrorMirror42: Or anyone else for that matter.
Xraysnorkle: The working theory has always been the debris was meant to catch high velocity bombardments but in addition to what Mirror said. Both a valid. I suppose.
CatEars69: There is only one truth.
Dammerung3000: In person protest might help a few people reconsider but the illegals have no choice.
Spicypenball: “The emperor is pleased”

SpinGun: Callous? Are you there?

___________________________________________________
---The detective was spat out of a drain. The sky was a strange color. The color of flesh.

I watched the world melt away.

Thank you for reading~ Lucid

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