AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (5 page)

10

“If your dog pisses or shits in my bay then I’ll personally shove you out the wall through one of the locks, you hear me?” Chief Mildred Roark snarls, pointing at one of a dozen huge bay doors built into the far wall. “You operators think you can do whatever the fuck you want while us working folk just stand by and keep things running for you. Not tonight, Sergeant Crouch. Tonight your ass is mine and I will work it into the ground.”

“Uh…okay,” Blaze says, taking a step back from the woman that most of the tower fears. “I…yeah, sure. Work me.”

“That supposed to be some smart ass remark?” she snaps.

“No,” Blaze says, holding up his hands. “Honestly. I’m agreeing with you. LT sent me down here and said I have to meet your expectations or else.”

“Or else what?”

“I’d rather not find out,” Blaze says. He points at her cheek. “Uh, you got something on ya there.”

“Fuck you,” she replies.

The chief turns and looks at the two rows of GenSOF transports that fill a quarter of the massive bay. The rest of the space is occupied by hover lifts, shelf after shelf of parts, workbenches, and a small lounge off in the corner where two mechanics are busy playing ping pong.

Short, fit, her dark black hair tucked up under her GenSOF cap, and only a couple years older than Blaze, Chief Mildred Roark rules the transport bay with an iron fist. Her word is law. And like most of the time she’s in her bay, she has more grease than skin showing on her face, yet could give two shits as she turns back to Blaze, her deep brown eyes boring into him.

“You start with Tranny One and work on to Tranny Two and so on,” Roark says. “Fill the latrines with grey then pump them empty. Once you do
that, you flush each with StatSolv. Then you go back and do it all again.”

“You want me to flush them twice?” Blaze asks.

“What I want is for all the squad leaders to stop treating what I do for a living like a punishment for everyone else,” Roark replies. “Because after you flush them twice I’ll have to have one of my men, men that are actually trained at this shit, go back over them and flush them a third time because I know for a fucking fact you’ll fuck this up.”

“I’ll try not to,” Blaze says.

“Yet, you will,” Roark responds then kneels down in front of Gorge. “Do not shit or piss in here, got it? You have to make with the shitting, you tell your human or you come get me. Got it?”

Gorge looks up at Blaze then looks back at Roark and gives a small huff.

“Good fucking dog,” Roark says, standing and stepping close to Blaze. “Any questions, Sergeant?”

“No, ma’am,” Blaze says. “I’m pretty sure I know what I need to do.”

“Oh, good,” Roark smirks. “You’r
e
pretty sur
e
. Great. As long as you’re pretty sure then what could possibly go wrong?”

She turns abruptly and stomps away. The men playing ping pong wait until she’s gone then stop their game and look over at Blaze.

“Hose for the grey water is in the bay floor, dead center,” one says.

“Pump is against the north wall,” the other says.

“StatSolv is on the east wall,” the first adds.

“You guys going to be here all night in case I screw up?” Blaze asks.

“Yep,” they both say.

“Want to lend an operator a hand?”

“Nope,” they both reply.

“That’s what I thought,” Blaze says.

He walks to the wide space between the transports and looks at the large yellow numbers painted on the floor.

“I guess we start here, G-Girl,” Blaze says. “You’ll want to stay back while I work. Don’t want any grey to splash on-” He looks down and Gorge is nowhere to be seen. “G?”

Turning about, he spies her trotting over to one of the couches by the ping pong table. She hops up, watches the two mechanics volley for a second, then lays down, placing her head on her paws as she closes her eyes.

“Traitor!” he shouts, but only gets an ear flick in response.

Blaze rolls up his sleeves, crouches by the small hatch marked “GREY,” pulls out the hose and starts tugging it over to Tranny One.

“Stupid name,” he mutters. “Tranny.”

“It is a nickname, short for transport, which is also a play on words since the vehicles are designed to look like normal transports on the outside, but have been considerably modified within in order to incorporate all possible combat needs when outside of the cities,” Worm says. “Would you like me to list the technical specifications, Sergeant Crouch?”

“At least
you
haven’t left me, Worm,” Blaze says. “And, no, you don’t need to list the specs-”

“Built and designed during the Unseen Wars, the Shimakuri Multi-mode Personnel and Supply Transport, was crucial in maintaining force strength as well as moving supplies needed during the constant shift of the front lines,” Worm continues as if he hadn’t heard Blaze. “Powered by a miniaturized version of the nuclear cells that power all cities of the Clean Nation, the Shimakuri Transport is the ideal vehicle for military action while traveling the Sicklands. I use the colloquial term for the regions between the Clean Nation cities for your benefit, Sergeant Crouch. It helps you relate to the information I am providing.”

“Relate to this, Worm,” Blaze says, holding the grey water hose up to his crotch.

“You are mimicking a phallus with the hose, Sergeant,” Worm says. “And being a non-corporeal artificial intelligence that does not possess sex organs from either gender, I cannot relate. Thank you for pointing that out.”

“Jeez, Worm,” Blaze sighs. “Don’t get your cyberpanties in a wad.”

“With the creation of GenSOF, the Shimakuri Corporation was able to adapt the transports to the specifications needed for Special Operations Forces squads,” Worm continues. “The interior has been altered for the comfort and efficiency of a five person GenSOF squad, with accompanying Canine Units, so that missions may be completed with precision and efficiency.”

“Worm?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“I know all this. Please be quiet.”

“I have found that conversation helps pass the time for humans,” Worm replies. “I will gladly do as you say and be quiet
. However, knowing you as I do, Sergeant, you will become bored and distracted with your assigned task within exactly two and one half minutes.”

“Bullshit,” Blaze says.

“If you say so, Sergeant,” Worm responds, going quiet.

Two minutes and thirteen seconds later…

“Is it true what we learned in basic?” Blaze asks. “Why the transports have wheels instead of hover skids?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, were you addressing me?”

“Don’t be pissy,” Blaze sighs. “Just answer the question.”

“Due to the extreme shifts in terrain within the Sicklands, using solid reinforced steel and galvanized rubber
wheels is more practical,” Worm replies. “The transports can always utilize the reserve hover skids, if needed, but due to the weaponry employed on the transports, the skids are not optimal. There can be, and have been, incidents involving static charge backflows while engaging the hover skids during battle. Unfortunately, this was first discovered in the field by Shimakuri Transport 1,806 during the battle of Chickasha, Oklahoma. The resulting explosion is why that settlement was removed from later maps of the region.”

“Huh,” Blaze says. “How many after that?”

“9.75,” Worm says.

Blaze stops and frowns. “Uh, where does the .75 come in? How do you have a .75 explosion?”

“By averting the final .25 of the processes needed to cause the explosion,” Worm says. “For additional information you should have a conversation with Lieutenant Lane as he was the operator that saved his squad. I do have the details, as listed in the mission report, but it is always more beneficial for an operator to hear it first hand from another operator, don’t you think, Sergeant?”

“Yeah,” Blaze says. “I may do that. Good way to kill time on our next mission.”

Blaze continues his work while Worm drones on. He half-listens to the information streaming into his ear, placing most of his attention on the nasty tasks before him.

After filling and emptying the latrine tanks with grey water, Blaze then goes back, one by one, and flushes each tank with StatSolv. A mix of statically charged saline and various chemicals, StatSolv incorporates the fundamental principle of static electricity that keeps all of the Clean Nation cities sterile and safe.
Well, as safe as possible; bacteria are not something that can be contained forever.

Discovered and refined by Dr. Maurice Caldicott, the basic
static charge process takes the Earth’s natural electromagnetic energy and harnesses it for everything from hover skids to the life saving Static Reactor Shields, or StatShields, that surround each person in the cities as well as the Clean Nation cities themselves, keeping the civilized populations of Earth free from the Strains of bacteria that threaten to wipe humanity from the planet.

If Blaze could see inside the latrine tanks, he would find nothing but gleaming alloy steel staring back at him; every molecule sterilized down to the atom. Or close to it.

By the time he is finished, it is almost 0400 and Blaze is exhausted.

“Good work, Sergeant,” Roark says, walking back into the bay, dressed in a clean GenSOF uniform, a steaming cup of liquid in her hand. “Care for a mug of stim
brew?”

“That would be great,” Blaze says.

“Then go get one before your next task,” Roark says, blowing the steam off the top of the mug. “Chop chop, Sergeant. Half of these trannies will be leaving on mission by 0800. I need those half wiped down before that. You can tackle the rest after.”

Blaze just stares at her.

“Something wrong? Don’t know where the stimbrew is? There’s a slide hatch by the couch your bug hound is snoring on,” Roark says, a sly grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s glitchy so make sure your AiSP double checks the results. Wouldn’t want you to get a mug of booze and fall asleep on me.”

“I doubt I’d fall asleep if I was on you, Chief,” Blaze says before he can stop the words from tumbling out of his sleep deprived mouth.

“You done?” Roark asks, not amused.

“I’m guessing in more ways than one,” Blaze sighs. “I’m sorry for-”

“Get your stimbrew, drink it, and grab a static rag,” Roark says. “Every square inch, inside and out, needs to be wiped down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Blaze says, looking towards the lounge area. He wonders when the mechanics stopped playing ping pong and left. Worm was so busy talking he never noticed. “Again-”

“Fuck off, Crouch,” Roark replies, sipping from her mug. “And your bug hound.”

She turns away and starts walking between the transports
, inspecting each machine carefully.

“Why does everyone insult my dog?” Blaze asks out loud.

“Is that a rhetorical question, Sergeant Crouch?” Worm asks.

“I don’t know,” Blaze says. “I’m too fucking tired to figure that out.”

11

“Hey. Sergeant. Get your ass up and out of my bay.”

“Huh?” Blaze asks, trying to
lift his eyelids and shake the grogginess from his head. “Where…?”

“Your b
ug hound needs to pee,” Roark says as she kicks Blaze’s leg that dangles down from the couch. “And you’ve contaminated my couch. I’ll have to StatMist it for a week to get your operator stank out of it.”

Blaze manages to get both eyes open and finds himself staring into the less than patient face of Gorge. The girl gives a small whine and looks towards the bay doors.

“She must really need to piss if she’s looking out the locks,” Roark says, kicking Blaze again. “You going to take her to the latrine or do I need to toss her outside?”

“Jeez, chill,” Blaze says, pushing himself up off the couch. All around him mechanics are running to and fro, prepping transports for departure. “What time is it?”

“0730, Sergeant,” Worm says. “I apologize for not insisting you return to your quarters before you lay down on Chief Roark’s couch.”

“Your AiSP talking to you?” Roark asks.

“Yeah, he’s-”

“Don’t give a shit,” Roark says. “Get the hell out of my bay. My people have work to do and can’t do it as efficiently with their StatShields activated. StatShields they have to keep active because your bug infested ass is on my couch. Have I mentioned the week of StatMist?”

“Yeah, yeah, you mentioned it,” Blaze replies. “I’m gone so back off. You won’t see me for at least another day since I’m on leave.”

“Ha,” Roark snorts. “That’s what you think.”

“What?” Blaze asks.

“Sergeant,” Worm interrupts. “Canine Unit Gorge is about to urinate. I would advise removing her from the bay as Chief Roark has requested and walking her to the nearest latrine.”

“Sure, sure, I’m going,” Blaze says, turning to Roark. But the woman is gone, halfway across the bay, shouting orders to her crew. “Nice working with ya.”

The door slides open and Gorge bursts from the bay, running as fast as she can to the doorway at the end of the hall. She steps in front of it, the door slides open, and she is lost from Blaze’s view. Still semi-asleep, he staggers his way down to the latrine and enters also, unzipping his fly before he’s even all the way in.

“Sergeant,” a woman says as she steps from a stall, her pants bunched around her ankles. “You look like shit.”

“Lieutenant Wallace,” Blaze salutes. “I think you forgot something, ma’am.”

“Cute,” Lieutenant Beverly Wallace smirks as she pulls her pants up. “You give your mother attitude like that?”

“My mother died when I was eight, ma’am,” Blaze replies, stepping to the far wall, sighing as he lets fly a stream of pee against the shiny metal. He glances over his shoulder to see Gorge squatting in the corner reserved for
bug hounds. “Freak TransPod accident.”

“Bullshit, operator,”
Lieutenant Wallace says, running her hands in a sonic box of steel mesh that appears by the doorway. “I’ve seen your file. Your mother lives in a condo over on View Street, just outside the Burn.”

Lieutenant
Wallace removes her hands from the sonic and the door automatically slides open, the sensors telling it the woman’s hands have been sterilized of any possible fecal contaminant.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Sergeant,”
Lieutenant Wallace says as she leaves the latrine.

“Wouldn’t think of it, ma’am,” Blaze calls after her.

He steps back from the wall and it shimmers blue for a split second, vaporizing his urine. Gorge sits by the door, waiting patiently.

“You have fun sleeping all night while I busted my ass?” Blaze asks her as he places his hands in the
sonic. She gives a short bark and turns to wait for the door to open.

“Shall I have a breakfast shake waiting for you in your quarte
rs, Sergeant Crouch?” Worm asks as Blaze leaves the latrine.

“No thanks, Worm,” Blaze replies as he yawns and stretches, barely noticing the people that pass him in the hallway. “I got to get some more sleep before I attempt to eat.”

“Of course,” Worm replies. “I have already set your bed and placed a do not disturb warning in the system. None of the other members of your squad will interrupt you during your rest.”

“Thanks, Worm,” Blaze says. “A few hours of shut eye and I’ll be good as new.”

“I do have to inform you that you will not be allowed to sleep more than three and three quarter hours,” Worm says.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Blaze grumbles. “Why? Because of that stupid sleep pattern shit?”

“It is regulation when an operator is in the tower, Sergeant,” Worm responds.  “You are to maintain as close to a proper sleep cycle as possible.”

“I’m on leave, Worm,” Blaze says.

“Yes, but that has zero bearing on your body,” Worm replies. “Consistent delta-wave exposure is key to optimal health. An operator must be at his or her sharpest when called into duty.”

“But I’m on leave,” Blaze
complains.

“I understand, Sergeant, but if you sleep all day then you will be awake at night, thus throwing off your sleep pattern and reducing the likelihood of achieving optimal delta-waves once you do reach stage four of your sleep cycle.”

“I hate you, Worm,” Blaze says. “I hate you so much.”

“Your aggressive irritation is further proof that a proper sleep cycle must be achieved,” Worm responds. “You are only reinforcing my point, Sergeant Crouch.”

“Suck a cyberdick, Worm.”