Slab City Blues - The Collected Stories: All Five Stories in One Volume Read Online Free Page B

your Zurich account for a good lawy–”
    This was when MEC Security Operative Number 12 shot me in the back with a tazer. I never heard a thing. Very slick.
    Tazer shock feels a bit like being hit by a jackhammer travelling at a hundred miles an hour. It also makes you piss yourself and gibber around on the floor, all very embarrassing for tough guy detectives.
    I was still in paralysis when I resurfaced. Janus was predictably dead with a hole in her forehead and Number 12 was staring down at me. He had those perfect teeth no-one is born with and a leathery face that didn’t match the dentistry.
    “How you feeling, Inspector?”
    “Schlumph,” I replied.
    “Never mind. Won’t last much longer.” He wandered over to Joe, still sedated into oblivion on the couch. “Will you look at the size of this guy? Don’t appreciate it when you see him on the hol. But up close like this he’s really incredible. Had six hundred riding on him for the Ortega fight…”
    He droned on as I swivelled my eyes about desperately. The Sig was on the floor a few miles away. Something was scratching nearby, something out of view because I couldn’t turn my head.
    “… that mega-mutant of yours has shut down the pipe so my colleagues are having to climb down here. It’ll take a few hours so I thought I’d pass the time with you.”
    “Thnshks.”
    “You’re welcome. You know, that job you did on my team was remarkable. ‘Course, none of them had our experience.”
    My eyes flicked up at him.
    “Yeah, I’m a Vet too. On the other side of course. Still, all over now eh? No hard feelings.”
    He was wearing a stealth suit of non-reflective, insulating fabric. That’s why Freak missed him. All he had to do was stay in the shadows while I scragged his friends then follow me to the Pipe. Latched onto the carriage somehow when Freak put it in free fall. Real hard-core space commando shit. He must have killed dozens of us in the war.
    The scratching got louder. I had regained enough mobility to crane my neck a fraction of an inch. There was a large white box under the operating table about three feet away. The scratching stopped, started, stopped again. I heard something sniff the air.
    “…after the war I had some trouble reintegrating into society. Not that there is much of what you’d call a society anymore. You should see it down there, Jesus…”
    There was a catch on the front of the box and I was starting to lose the numbness in my arms. But Number 12 was certain to kill me the nano-second I moved.
    “…I mean the poverty, you wouldn’t believe it. There I was, a three times decorated war hero for Christ’s sake, and what do they offer me? Refuse disposal specialist. I guess that’s when my anger management issues first manifested themselves…”
    “Alex?”
    I’d forgotten about Freak. “Yspls?” I kept it to a whisper. Number 12 probably thought I was throwing up.
    “I can see the box on the room scanner. If I give you a diversion can you move far enough?”
    “Uh.”
    “OK. Just a sec.”
    The box was starting to shake as what was inside got angry.
    “…one day this MEC suit turned up at the psych ward with a contrac-”
    Joe moved, not much, just a spasm as Freak ran a pulse charge through the immersion leads, but it was enough to get Number 12’s undivided attention. “What the fuck!”
    I lurched across the floor, trailing saliva and piss, scrabbling at the box, finding the catch more through luck than judgement. Number 12 was already putting the laser dot on my forehead when a streak of black erupted from the box and latched onto his face.
    The Emperor was trained to put on a show so it took longer than it should and Number 12 made some disgusting noises before it was over. The Emperor sat on the body, licking blood from his snout and regarding me with the cold, baleful stare singular to rats. I knew he was smart enough to tell friend from foe but he was such a vicious little bastard he might kill me