A Swift Kick in the Asteroids Page 13

  “You also demanded that they work twice as long as they did under the old regime.”

  “I simply encouraged them to show their mettle,” said Bent. “Nothing more.”

  “And when they didn’t show their mettle,” Fletcher continued, “you fired them.”

  Bent gestured flippantly with his fingers. “An unfortunate onus of leadership.”

  Again, Zagarat expected Fletcher to make a joke about the word onus, possibly about how it sounded a bit like anus, but he didn’t. He remained absolutely stolid. “Out of curiosity, how do you manage stress in your branch? I mean, your employees work harder and longer than anywhere else in Deus, and yet they take fewer vacations. It’s very strange.”

  “Ah,” said Bent, nodding knowingly to himself. “That’s the reason for the audit. I assure you, Mr. Griffin, no one at my branch uses Galustay.” He held out his arm. “You may take a blood sample, if you like. I have nothing to hide.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” said Fletcher. “But I have no idea what Galapay is.”

  “He said Galustay,” said Zagarat. “And I’ve never heard of it either. What is it?”

  “An urban legend,” said Bent, absently. “Nothing more.”

  “But if it’s an urban legend, then how could you test for it?” asked Zagarat.

  Fletcher smiled. “That’s a good question.”

  Bent tensed, his left eyebrow twitching ever so slightly. “I have said all I have to say on the matter. If you’d like a blood sample, you may have it. But I assure you, no one at my branch uses Galustay. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I must tend to a pressing matter.”

  “Gotta make room for dessert, huh?” said Fletcher. He made a slurping sound as he winked knowingly at Bent. “Got ya.”

  Augus stared at Fletcher for a few moments before shaking his head and walking away.

  Zagarat waited until Bent entered the lavroom and then asked, “What is Galustay?”

  Fletcher shook his head, mouthing the word “bug.”

  “Oh.” Zagarat reached inside his pocket, retrieved a small opalescent globe, and placed it on the table. He pressed down on it and a soft hum filled the air. “Now we can talk.”

  “What is that?” asked Fletcher.

  “It’s something I made a while ago. It disrupts any comm devices rated A9 or lower. The one on you seemed an A5 at best.” Fletcher still looked unconvinced. “It really works. Watch.” Zag depressed the comm for the wait staff. “Hello. Is that pretentious waiter Wooderick there? You know, the one with a deusteel rod up his black hole?” There was no reply. “See?”

  But Fletcher apparently didn’t see his point. All he seemed to see was something quite amusing over Zag’s left shoulder.

  The blood instantly drained from Zagarat’s face. “Wooderick’s behind me, isn’t he?”

  Fletcher replied with a wry grin.

  Zagarat sighed. Of course Wooderick was standing behind him. Whenever Zag approached that fickle woman named Pride in order to ask her out on a date, Pride’s drunk best friend Irony would always stick her nose into the conversation and ruin everything.

  Zag turned, ready to meet his embarrassing fate. Only Wooderick was nowhere to be seen. He whipped back around. “Oh, you are such an ass.”

  “But it would have been pretty funny if he was there though,” said Fletcher.

  “Yeah,” grumbled Zagarat. “It would have been sunning hilarious.”

  Fletcher picked up the opalescent globe. “So, this will knock out all comm signals?”

  “Well, anything within a ten foot radius, but yeah.”

  “And you made this?” asked Fletcher.

  “Yep,” said Zagarat. “It’s what I do. Some sents write or paint. I like to take things apart and see how they work. And then make my own versions.”

  “Hmm,” said Fletcher, admiring the device. He then admired Zagarat with that same admiration. “Hmm.”

  “So what is Galustay?” asked Zagarat. “Is that why you came to Mayoo? To see if his branch was using the stuff?”

  Fletcher didn’t say a word. He just stared blankly at Zagarat until a Folian male with a wide face and ivory-like skin paused at their table and began striking the PCD on his wrist.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Fletcher.

  “Talk to fend and now dan ting no work,” said the Folian. He continued walking. “Oh, there you are. No, no, I jus walk in dead zone.” His voice trailed off as he neared his table.

  “See?” said Zagarat. “It works.”

  “Apparently,” said Fletcher.

  “So what do you know about Galustay?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I know,” said Fletcher. “It matters what Bent knows.”

  “Well, if he knows anything, I don’t think he’s going to tell you.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Fletcher, placing his napkin on the table. “That’s why we’re leaving.”

  “Now?” asked Zagarat. “Won’t that look a little bit suspicious?”

  “Not if we have a good excuse.”

  “What kind of excuse?”

  “Welllll,” said Fletcher, in that prevaricating way of his. “I was thinking something along the lines of food poisoning.”

  Zagarat leaned forward in his chair. “You’re gonna fake food poisoning?”

  “Not exactly fake it.”

  “You’re gonna poison yourself?”

  “Ummmm,” said Fletcher. “Not me, no.”

  “You’re gonna poison someone here in the restaurant?” asked Zagarat, softly. “Who? That couple over there?” Fletcher shook his head. “The Folian with the PCD?” Fletcher shook his head again. “Bent?” Again, Fletcher shook his head. “Then who?”

  As if on cue, Zagarat’s stomach suddenly grumbled vociferously. Zag looked up, his face a horrified rictus of dread. “You didn’t.”

  “Sorry,” said Fletcher, scrunching his face into a grimace.

  “You sunning fuuuuuu…”

  A geyser of gastric fluid spewed from Zagarat’s mouth, covering the table and the floor. And some nearby diners.

  “Oh, no,” said Fletcher, clutching his cheeks. The ones on his face. “Something’s happened to my dear friend here.”

  Zagarat grasped the table, his chest heaving in and out as he gasped for air. “You sunning fuuuuhhh…” Another vomitus volley lacquered the table.

  “What is going on here?” asked the maître de. Behind him, Augus Bent shuffled backwards as a rivulet of partially digested food trickled towards his shoes.

  “My friend here is deathly sick, that’s what’s going on,” said Fletcher self-righteously, with no right whatsoever. “I don’t know what kind of establishment you’re running here, but you can expect a carefully worded review on GULP for this. I’m sorry, Mr. Bent, but we’ll have to finish this meeting another day. The scallops evidently didn’t sit well with Mr. Cole here.”

  “Of course,” said Bent. “Of course. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Fletcher wrapped his arm around Zagarat’s waist. “Come on, Mr. Cole. Let’s take you back to the hotel so you can get some rest.”

  Zagarat looked up at Fletcher, his nostrils flaring. If looks could kill, then Zag’s wrathful stare was worthy of five concurrent death sentences.

  “Is there anything I can do?” asked the maître de, as Fletcher escorted Zag to the door.

  “No, no,” said Fletcher. “He just needs a little rest and then he’ll be as good as new. Won’t you, Mr. Cole?”

  “Hate you,” Zagarat muttered.

  “See? He’ll be fine. Oh, and could you bill the Deus account for this meal? And add a fifty percent tip for the waiters. They deserve it.”

  “Of course,” said the maître de. “Again, I am truly sorry.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Fletcher adjusted his grip. “Come on, Mr. Cole.”

  “Hate you.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Fletcher, escorting Zag outside. “I hate that you got sick too.”

 
; “Sunning… hate… you.”

  et off of me!” said Zagarat, swatting at the bottle of ChocoLifaLite.

  “You need to drink this,” said Fletcher, pushing the bottle up to his lips. “It’ll rehydrate you and replenish your electrolytes. And look, it’s even chocolate flavored.”

  “I wouldn’t need to replenish my electrolytes if someone hadn’t tried to kill me back there,” said Zagarat, pushing his arm away.

  “Oh, stop being so melodramatic. It was just a little expectorant, that’s all.”

  “Just a little expectorant? You try it next time and see how little it is.”

  “Hey,” said Fletcher, defensively. “Trust me. I would have taken it if I could.”

  “And why couldn’t you?” said Zagarat, fists on his hips.

  “Because…” Fletcher paused in thought. “Huh. I guess I could have taken it myself. But how was I supposed to know that? I’m not used to having a partner.”

  “Oh, I’m not your partner,” said Zagarat, pointing. “I am so not your partner.”

  “True,” said Fletcher. “You’re more like my lovable sidekick. Well, sidekick anyway.” Zagarat growled. “It was a joke. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “And doing a great job of it.” Zagarat swiped the bottle from Fletcher’s hand. “Give me that.” He took a sip of the chocolate mixture. “Ugh. This stuff is vile.”

  “But it’s good for you,” said Fletcher cheerfully. He watched as Zagarat fought down the chocolate mixture. “Feeling better now?”

  “Just stellar,” said Zagarat sarcastically, tossing the bottle into a nearby bin.

  “Good,” said Fletcher. “Because I kinda need your help with one more thing.”

  Zag paused, levelling his steely gaze on Fletcher. “What did you just say?”

  “It’s the tiniest of favors,” Fletcher assured him. “Insignificant really.”

  “What?” Zagarat growled like a feral Gerren lion.

  “Welllll,” said Fletcher. “I kind of need your help breaking into Bent’s place.”

  “Goodbye,” said Zagarat, turning on his heels and storming away.

  “Oh, come on,” said Fletcher, chasing after him. “It’ll be easy. We’ll slip inside his apartment, check his PC and PCD, and be out before you know it.”

  “Nope. Not gonna happen. Goodbye.”

  “Really?” said Fletcher, seeming genuinely surprised. “Why not?”

  Zagarat whipped around in a flash. “Why not?” he said in utter amazement. “Because you’re sunning mental, that’s why not!”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m mental,” said Fletcher, totally immune to Zagarat’s mania. “I’m more eccentric. And you gotta admit, I am kind of fun.”

  “Fun? Fun!” Zagarat shook as if about to explode. “There’s nothing fun… You nearly killed me back there, you sunning lunatic!”

  “Stop exaggerating,” said Fletcher, waving the idea aside. “You didn’t nearly die.”

  Zagarat held up his finger. “Shut up! Just shut up and leave me alone.”

  “Oh, come on, Zag,” said Fletcher, following him down the street. “You gotta believe me. I wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t important.”

  “Don’t care,” said Zagarat. “Leave me alone.”

  “But Zag…”

  Zagarat covered his ears. “I’m not listening.”

  “Zag…”

  “Nope,” said Zagarat. “I’m done with you…”

  Unfortunately, the “you” came out as a puff of air as Fletcher grabbed Zagarat by the arm and whipped him around. A wall of pure animus radiated off of Fletcher as he advanced on Zagarat, the sheer will of which pressed Zag up against a nearby procrete wall.

  “Do you know how they make Galustay?” said Fletcher heatedly, his normally bright blue eyes seeming darker now and far more foreboding.

  Zagarat shook his head, his legs trembling beneath him.

  “They harvest adrenaline from living Weiylans. Do you know who the Weiylans are? Of course you don’t. They’re an insignificant species from an insignificant speck of a planet. They are enormous creatures with blue skin and unbelievable strength. They could tear you apart without breaking a sweat. But they never would because they are the gentlest creatures you will ever meet. Even after years of subjugation, they wouldn’t hurt…” He sniffled. “And then mega corps came along and…” He balled his hands into pallid white fists. “And it’s not enough that they harvest their adrenaline. Oh, no. It’s how they do it. They lock them inside a chamber and subject them to all sorts of physical and psychological terrors because the stronger the emotion, the sweeter nectar.”

  Fletcher’s body shook with rage. A rage that made Zagarat tremble with fear. A fear so utterly overwhelming that Zag was afraid he might die from fright.

  But just when it seemed that Fletcher was going to either unleash his fury on a wall, or on an unfortunate tech, the privateer blinked blearily, as if awaking from a dream. Or nightmare.

  “Sorry,” he said, stepping back. “Sorry. It’s just… you haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”

  Zagarat found himself able to breathe once again. A sensation he enjoyed so thoroughly that he spent the next minute or so simply breathing in and out. Finally, once he was able to speak again, he asked, his voice quavering, “Do they really do that to these Weiylans?”

  “Yeah,” said Fletcher, sounding fatigued. “All to make Galustay.”

  “Why?” asked Zagarat. “What’s so great about Galustay?”

  “It’s the perfect drug,” said Fletcher. “It not only increases your cognitive abilities, but it also increases your physical strength without any side effects whatsoever. It’s not addictive. It’s not habit-forming. It’s absolutely perfect. That’s why execs use it. And as long as only a few sentients know about it, they don’t have to worry about anyone finding out how it’s made.”

  “Oh,” said Zagarat, softly. “I didn’t know that.”

  Fletcher placed his hand on Zagarat’s shoulder. “Look, Zag. I know I can seem a little…”

  “Insane?” said Zagarat. “Idiotic? Weird as all space?”

  “I was gonna say eccentric,” said Fletcher, with a somber smile. “But yeah.” He took a slow and labored breath. “Zag, this is really important. I don’t like it when the corps prey on the weak and innocent. I need to stop this. So, please help me. Please.”

  Zagarat looked up at Fletcher as a myriad emotions coursed through his mind. Fear, anger, and compassion being at the forefront of that list.

  “But what can I do about it?” asked Zagarat. “I’m just me.”

  “Trust me,” said Fletcher. “There’s nothing’s ‘just me’ about you.”

  Zag wrinkled his brow, his fear subsumed by confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What do you mean?” said Fletcher, stepping back. “Of course it makes sense. ‘There’s nothing ‘just me’ about you.’ That makes perfect sense.”

  “No, it sounds like there’s nothing like you about me.”

  “That not what I…” Fletcher bit his lip. “Okay. How about this? You put enough me’s together and you get we. And we’s can change the universe.”

  Zagarat made a face. “I mean, it’s better, but it’s still not very good. It sounds like you want to urinate all over the universe.”

  Fletcher threw his arms into the air, his blue eyes gleaming once more. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not some scribe who can wax poetical for you. I’m just…”

  “You’re just you,” said Zagarat, perfunctorily. “I know. I know.”

  Zag took a deep breath as he looked at Fletcher, really looked at him for the very first time. He wasn’t some bumbling idiot, was he? Well, he wasn’t just a bumbling idiot. He was a sentient trying to make a difference in this verse. A privateer trying to help the weak and exploited. And maybe that was why Zagarat felt a sudden pang of empathy. He had always had a soft spot in his heart for the lonely. The different. The disenfranchised. More than likely
because that was what Zag considered himself to be.

  And that was when, to Zagarat’s own utter amazement, he said, “So, what’s the plan?”

  Fletcher’s face brightened like a solar flare. “It’s simple. We get inside his pod, hack into his console, and then leave before any notices.”

  “Okay,” said Zagarat, levelly. “There are just a few problems with that.” He pointed his index finger in the air. “First of all, breaking into someone’s apartment isn’t easy.”

  “It’s easier than you might think,” said Fletcher.

  Zag raised another finger. “Also, breaking and entering is a felony.”

  “Actually, breaking is only a misdemeanor. It’s the entering part that they have a problem with. Besides, we already broke like ten laws accessing the Deus database, so why start nitpicking now?” Zagarat froze. “Sorry. Did I forget to mention that part?”

  Zag closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate you so much.” He shook his head then continued. “Thirdly, Bent is probably home by now.”

  “Ummmm,” said Fletcher, in that tone that was really starting to get annoying. “Not necessarily.”

  “Oh, suns,” said Zagarat, dropping his head into his hands. “What did you do now?”

  “Welllll, I might have hired a few sentients to keep him occupied for the next few hours.”

  “And by sentients you mean…”

  “Prostitutes,” said Fletcher. “But don’t worry, I covered the whole spectrum. No matter what twisted thing he’s into, one of them will find him absolutely charming.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to Zagarat. “When did you hire them?”

  “Hmm?” said Fletcher, blinking innocently.

  “When did you hire them?” Zagarat repeated. “Because I didn’t see you comm anyone at the restaurant. Unless, of course, you commed them from the hotel or while you were in Anoo’s convenience store.” Fletcher’s gaze danced all around Zagarat, but never with him. Zag gasped. “You did, didn’t you? That means you had this whole thing planned from the beginning.”

  Fletcher made a slurping sound. “I don’t know how to answer that without really pissing you off.”

  Zagarat didn’t know why but he found himself laughing and crying at the very same time. His body convulsed as he wept and sniffled and chuckled all at once.