Blood Drops Keep Fallin’ on my Head
----------------------------------------
After removing the soiled sheets and turning the mattress over, Miles laid Jessica on the bed. With a trembling bloodstained hand, he solemnly closed her eyes. “What do you want from Fate, Maiden?” he asked. He then tore the window’s silk curtain. From a makeshift shroud, he covered the body.
The cyborg stared at him without saying a word. She had remained still, observing and analyzing his slightest move. Collecting behavioral data, establishing an approach protocol and choosing the right terms she ultimately spoke with measure: “According to one of my contacts around Jupiter: information.” She paused, and a micro-LED behind her ivory eyes flickered in mauve. “Information about the enhanced man you met on the ice moon of Enceladus—the Martian executive chasing her for months across the Rings.”
Miles scoffed, and vaguely waved towards the smoking corpses strewn at the data-thief’s feet: “You don’t need her to find any intel about that stalkin’ suit. You’ll get all the needed information scoutin’ their cyberbrains.”
Skirting a spreading puddle of red and white blood, Zéphyr stepped towards the group’s leader in his stolen Separatist uniform. She kneeled and grabbed her victim by his golden collar. With her other hand, she effortlessly tore off his grating metallic head. A spray of under pressure hot fluid splashed against the half-open window and reached the chandelier.
Miles swore, dodging a late spurt of steamy juice.
Amused, the data thief spun the severed skull in her palm. She looked with disgust at the empty, charred and fuming eye sockets. “I blew their honeycomb ceramic fuses through the hotel’s network… because one of them made the mistake to plug-in.”
“You can pull a stunt like this?”
“Yes,” Zéphyr breathed, feeling with her fingertips the warped ear-sockets where the torturing links had been melded by her overload.
Miles spat. “Sloppy squad.”
“No.”
“No?”
“In the best-case scenario, their secured memory would have rebooted the instant my Sheban worms pierced their ICE,” Zéphyr explained. Tearing off the melted wires and half the data-core—a brain-like chrome capsule criss-crossed with silicate veins. “As for the worst case…” She tossed the empty still-fuming head to Miles, who reflexively caught it. “Kaboom…”
The pilot dropped the bleeding body part. It bounced on the floor, and joltingly rolled beneath the bed. “If you say so…” he coughed. “Mr. Turban surrounded himself with highly dangerous assets. First those MKs on Enceladus, and now those spooks buzzing me like some MIA agents tickling a Soviet.”
“They didn’t ‘buzzed’ you, Mr. Villanueva. They almost beheaded you to dive a bio-probe into your gray matter. All of that because the broken implants scattered across your body fizzled out their little electric torture. You’re lucky. Sort of.”
“Bio-what?”
“A genetically modified wired-caterpillar introduced by the ear that would have sucked up fragments of your memory by eating your synapses. Very expensive. Still experimental but works fine if the cortex is kept fresh. Data-carriers with silica sheets or regular people can be dead-read by worms for a short period of time after passing away.”
Miles blinked. “I didn’t understand a single word.”
“That’s because you’ve been buzzed.”
“I thought I didn’t…”
“Do you love that?”
“Bein’ buzzed?”
“Playin’ the fool.”
The Maiden was no mug. Miles shrugged. “Who did this coopin gang work for? With their caterpillar going up people’s buttholes or something.”
“They are linked to the turbaned man, of course—and the WarTech-IHI Corporation.”
“Martians?”
“Deimos, yes. Familiar?” the Maiden asked, probing his reaction.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“They build warships. Among other things…”
She laughed. “These other things being everything war-related.”
“Pretty nasty. Are there any good corporations out there? Making things like… fluffy toys. Or rainbow candies.”
“Yes. But they don’t make as much money.” Done playing with the oozing cyberbrain, Zéphyr stood up. “Your torturer’s gear is still really impressive, even for such a Major League corp.” Stepping over the remains, she walked towards the window to open it wide. Her hair fluttered in the morning hot wind coming from the plains, shining under the artificial dawn light.
Left without an answer, the pilot grumbled, grabbing his jean pants from the chair. He then quickly pulled on the rest of his clothes. He nervously pulled down his sweater’s bottom, covering his broken chest-box and its surrounding injuries.
Meanwhile, Zéphyr remained silent, looking for the stars beyond the plastic veil in orbit. However, the only thing the Maiden witnessed below the shameful coffin appeared to be the buzzing security drone over the hotel.
“What do you want from Wartech?” Miles sat down by the bed.
The data-thief glanced back. “Something,” she said, smiling. “But I need Turban-guy to find it. And the woman—Fate. To find him first.”
“Data Brokers’ shenanigans?”
The ominous drone above the hotel buzzed loudly, waking the neighborhood. The flying machine slowly scanned the place and its occupants.
“No.” Zéphyr’s eyes flickered while a luminous veil invaded the room. “Listen, Miles…” she resumed as a red line went down her profile. “Time’s running out. I will promise you Fate won’t be hurt. Would you help me?”
“How can I trust you?”
“You can’t. And I don’t trust you either, Slim Jim.”
Scratching with his nail, the Alliance man tried to get rid of the spots of blood on the curtain covering his lover. But nothing could be done, and his hands fell flat on the mattress. He scoffed. “She’s now well away from the Rings…” He coughed, fighting the pain growing in his chest. “You’ll have better luck chasing WarTech’s dogs. They’re pretty…” He glanced at the dead agents. “ … inconspicuous.”
Shouts could suddenly be heard in the street behind the Data Maiden. A patrol was converging on the hotel. Separatist soldiers were already pounding on the main door. They discerned the drone flying in the skies.
“I can help you escape,” she whispered. Her voice cracked as she slowly turned invisible in front of the muted drone.
“What’s the point?” Miles retorted, stepping away from where Jess died.
“I’m deeply sorry about your friend,” she continued, hopping over the ledge. The UAV came to face her. His rotors blew in her hair, threatening to sweep away Jess’ makeshift shroud. “Our routes shall split tonight, Red Swan. May you find peace.”
“Stop calling me Red Swan. That was the name of the ship.”
“A SASCAR pilot and his ship always make one, desk man. Their destiny is linked forever.” Zéphyr invisible, the voice still originated from the window where only her ivory eyes glow.
“She’s been destroyed.”
“Did someone ever tell you that you’re an awful liar?” she asked. Her eyes disappeared and the drone fell to the ground, on the patrol whose screams almost covered the Maiden’s goodbye.
After the elusive cyborg vanished into the night, Miles sidestepped the dead bodies and slowly descended the stairs. He found Belvedere at his counter, the floating sprouts staring at the door against where another Separatist platoon was still pounding. Upright and dignified, the concierge seemed to ignore the half-clotted blood dripping onto the collar of Miles’ starched shirt as he walked past him.
“I am very sorry, sir,” Belvedere. “A note from the Alliance indicates that Mr. Napoléon, your bird, became extremely agitated. He has reportedly bitten two organic mechanics and dismantled a motorized worker with its bare beak. Perhaps you should join him—take your ship off this foul planet and its veil of detritus darkening the mind of its inhabitants.”
Miles didn’t answer. He walked on, eyes forward without even seeing. Bypassing the kitchens where he had been cooking with Clover Watercress earlier, he strolled towards the pachinko machine. Nearby, the jukebox wryly played Killing Me Softly With His Song.
Soldiers invaded the lobby. He heard them maltreating Belvedere, who didn’t flinch. As they came up the stairs like a pack of rabid dogs, scraping their armor and rifles against the wallpaper, Miles grabbed Enceladus’ pachinko ball from his pocket.
The marble in place, he pulled on the arcade’s lever with all his might. In a loud crash, the sphere ricocheted against the metal top of the board and spun against the first few rows of pine trees. Bouncing like never before, it dodged the upper baskets and then the second, finally coming to rest in the lower left corner.
Mad with rage, Miles hit the frame of the arcade, throwing the ball against the opposite edge. Another bump sent it flying into a line of pins. The machine flashed and vibrated, but the ball fell into the mouth. Yet against all odds, the arcade machine vomited its entire contents at his feet. A fountain of multicolored marbles ricocheted across the tiled floor with an infernal clatter when the soldiers erupted.
There was a shout behind, but he ignored it. The cursed marble with its pinkish glint caught his attention. It was the last one left in the bin when all the others had escaped.
Miles burst out laughing, before a coughing folded him in half. A second later, someone smashed the back of his head with a pistol butt. Lying on the floor, blind, he clenched the steel ball between his trembling fingers. As he appeared to be the end, he knew that life would find a new way to toy with him.