Summon (47 page)

Dark red blood filled the vial.

The minor was terrified, thinking his life was
about to end. Blue pushed at his mind, urged him to be calm, so he could
finish.

Nanoseconds passed as another vial filled, and
Blue’s tense shoulders relaxed. He’d get better as soon as he got this into his
system.

He once again dipped into the minor’s mind and sent
a strong compulsion for him to sleep. Holding the boy erect by pinning him to
the wall with his forearm, Blue reached into his pocket to take out a pack of
SkinAids. He placed a patch of the translucent skin cells over the needle marks
and watched as it adhered to the clammy skin and closed the breaches. The
wounds would have taken a few days to heal naturally, but the skin graft would
prevent infections and troublesome questions.

Easing the minor down, Blue propped him up, and
made it look like he was resting. He put the dropped the laser knife back into
his hand and curled his fingers around it, to keep the curious from approaching
until he woke.

Blue transferred the credits the minor had wanted
as a thank you. He would usually go deep into the OutRim and offer money in
exchange for blood anyway. Most desperate people obliged him; after all, it was
just blood for an oddball, and the donation was given in a vial he provided.

Blue had been too distracted, forgotten to
replenish.

Foolish.

He discarded the used needle and ripped open a
hermetically sealed packet to fit a new one. He injected the blood and the
light-headedness receded. The streaks of darkness across his vision eased, and
his breath came easy. His body felt revitalized, his muscles able to flex
without pain. His lungs could draw their fill of air rather than burn for the
lack.

Contemplative, Blue went to pick up the next
delivery.

Dod was on a break, reading his TalkMe. He snorted
laughter and his huge bulk jiggled with the amused chortle.

The delivery board was empty.

“Nothing outstanding?” Blue asked hesitantly, not
wanting to draw too much attention.

“Last order’s cooking. It’ll be ready to go soon.
Quiet night.”

Dod flicked him a glance then did a double take. It
was rare Blue took off his helmet, and he was once again taken aback by how the
youth looked. He remembered how confused he’d been hiring him for such a menial
job when Blue could be some HiCaste woman’s plaything and earn triple the
credits he did. Dod knew he was smart, no matter how much he tried to hide it.
Whatever his reason for his lifestyle choice, strange enhancements, and odd
aura, Dod never had any problems with him. He was a solid delivery boy, hard to
find past Quadrant8.

“Take a seat, might as well enjoy the peace as long
as we can.” The older man kicked a crate over and scowled when Blue hesitated.
“Pop a squat boy, creeps me out when you hover.”

Lowering himself onto the crate, Blue nodded in
thanks. He placed his helmet on his knee, his back stiff, expression stoic.

Dod scrubbed a hand through greying hair. “Had any
more enhancements to that face of yours?”

“No,” Blue replied.

He’d never had an enhancement in his life but was
thankful for their existence. They gave him a way to seamlessly blend. He
thought of the unconscious minor in the alleyway.
Well, perhaps not seamlessly
, he thought in amusement.

“Not much of a talker?”

Blue shrugged.

Dod lifted his battered TalkMe, a model so old tape
held it together. He had no inclination to get a newer model. His worked
standard, even if the HoloVids he got through were sometimes in black and
white. He had better things to spend his hard earned credit on, like pumping
high quality O2 into his domicile to make sure his beloved life partner
remained healthy, rounded as she as with their fifth illegal child. Who the
hell had the money to buy a birthing license for every kid anyway? “You read
the news feed today?”

Blue shook his head.

“It’s been leaked the Alliance issued a Quarantine
on Quadrant21. People are going mad.”

Blue cocked his head, his fingers already tugging
his TalkMe from his breast pocket. The fact he wasn’t aware of this major
incident was a tribute to how messed up he’d been before he’d replenished. His
oxygen-deprived brain was functioning at full capacity again. Unease crept up
his spine as he considered the reasons the Alliance would have for sanctioning
something as drastic as Quarantine when there had been no reports of infectious
disease in over a decade.

Keeping half his attention on Dod, Blue flicked
through the news feeds, absorbing information. There was inconsistency and lack
of conclusive evidence in the reports. “The whole quadrant? With no news of any
isolated outbreaks before the Quarantine was put in place. Why?”

As he spoke, Dod caught a flash of the teeth in
Blue’s mouth and tensed. The older man shook it off. Blue’s fangs were genetic
enhancements, nothing but cosmetic reshaping to satisfy whatever twisted whim
the boy had.

Why anybody would want to look like
that
Dod would never know.

“It doesn’t say. It says–”

“I know what it says,” Blue interjected quietly.

Dod watched as Blue’s eyes deepened in colour and
reminded him of blood, glowing faintly.

Sensing something was amiss, Blue’s lips pressed
into a thin line, and he looked down. “It’s wrong,” he muttered.

For the second time, shaking off his unease at the
boy’s grotesque enhancements, Dod frowned at the bold statement. “Scientist are
you? Last I checked you were a delivery boy on five hundred credit an hour.”
Dod’s voice wobbled. Now he was in the boy’s presence, he remembered why Blue
was such a loner. He felt wrong. When he was around you it was easier to
remember, but the nanosecond he left you forgot how he made you feel.

Blue’s eyelid twitched, and he shifted on the
crate. Dod was becoming uncomfortable, his slumberous mind more alert. “I’m not
a scientist. I just know … what is written is wrong. Illogical.”

“How?”

Blue hesitated, torn between speaking his mind and
making the man even more afraid if him.

Dod crossed hairy arms over his chest. He looked
sickly, so Blue ended the encounter as smoothly as he could. “New order’s up.”
Blue pointed to the fresh dumplings the industrial-sized FeedMe pushed out.

Dod cleared his throat. “You’re a delivery boy,” he
said, reaffirming it.

“Yes,” Blue agreed.

In the street, Blue glanced at the address he had
to deliver to and was rooted to the spot. His heart pounded in excitement that
he tried and failed to control. He knew the name on the order form. Max Vox. He
worked at Pluto’s too, and was the best friend to Kali Loklear; the most
intriguing female Blue had ever laid eyes on.

A female he had developed an unusual fixation on.

The order was fourteen quadrants in the wrong
direction of home, annoying so late in the evening, but if it meant he got to
see Kali he’d make the journey willingly.

Blue had shared his body before, when he got his
license, to know what it was like. The experience was to record first hand the
sensations and emotional side effects not because he had a fondness for the
HiCaste woman who’d dragged him into a RecRom. He’d found it curious that
because the female was passably attractive, he just closed his eyes, and didn’t
have to do much.

The emotional entanglement because of the
experiment had been a surprise, but as with everything, Blue dealt with that.

Kali made the concept of rec less daunting to
consider revisiting. She made the idea of getting close, of kissing, and
touching seem entirely agreeable.

One evening, Blue had done the math, using all
possible scenarios to determine whether he and Kali Loklear, near a RecRom,
alone, would happen. The chances were poor not only because their lives were
polar opposites, but also because Kali avoided RecRoms. That and the moment
Blue took off his helmet and she got a look at his face she’d probably run the
other way.

Each time he saw her all he could do was silently
stand on her stoop and hold out Pluto’s CredMac, waiting for her to sign
acceptance of delivery, and transfer order payment.

How many times had he been determined to take off
his helmet and introduce himself, only to be frozen on the spot when an opening
in her friendly chatter came? His hands got sweaty and his heart rate
accelerated. His chest constricted as if he needed to replenish, but that
wasn’t it.

He’d been ashamed, but he had spoken to Caesar and
Hypatia about his reaction to Kali. They had suggested a hormonal imbalance
that she triggered with her specific blend of pheromones.

Blue would have accepted this logical explanation
had there not been commonplace things he’d come to like about her.

The scent of fresh soap infused the air around her
not the harsh chemical perfume others wore. The radiance of her skin, a vivid
golden tone, made her seem unearthly. The brightness of her smile was
uncontrived, even if her maxillary lateral incisors were overly smooth and a
bit crooked. Even that he found charming. The joyful way she answered her door;
her high ponytail bouncing she moved with such animation. The way she would
start chattering on about non-consequential things whilst swinging her hands
from side to side, her whole body drawn into the act of expressing herself. The
way she always wore clothes that accentuated her body but in a subtle, modest
way, suggesting she either didn’t understand how attractive she was, or didn’t
care.

The thing that ensnared his interest most was the
respectful tone she always took with him even though to her the delivery boy at
the door was the lowest of the low and no one would bat an eyelid at her being
rude and standoffish.

Her presence made him feel as if they were equals.

Max spoke about Kali all the time at Pluto’s. Blue
was never invited in on those conversations – he’d gone to great pains to
be cordial but never friendly with his co workers – but when conversation
did turn to her Blue would burn to know every scrap of information. He never
learned much, Max would only refer to what she said or did in passing, but Blue
found himself smiling and envisioning her face when she was mentioned.

He’d often fantasized about driving up to her
house, ringing on the doorbell and asking her out on a date.

He was too enamoured with the illusion there was a
chance she’d say yes to have it shattered by reality.

Blue stalked into the shooting range frowning. He
didn’t belong.

It was a popular hang out for young HiCaste who
wanted to relax away from the prying eyes of chaperones and from friends of
their families. The open floor space was filled with the popular predator
feline FetchMe breeds, and a handful of the rare canine and primate breeds. The
occasional bunny and ferret disgusted Blue. FetchMes were designed to be
personal aids with enhanced intelligence and emotions, companions that should
change once during a life cycle. These cute and cuddly FetchMes were produced
for no functional purpose other than to look good on the arm of their master
and had short life spans.

Blue wondered how the owners would feel if they
were locked up, forced to breed and disposed of like chattel when because a
being more powerful than them felt like it. Despite his wish to catch a glimpse
of Kali, he had no desire to remain in this place for long, near these
heartless people for long.

Blue knew he was cold, but at least he had
principles.

“Is that order for Max?” A small hand touched his
arm to get his attention.

Bolts of heat shot through Blue as he found himself
helmet to face with a smiling Kali Loklear.

He nodded.

“Cosmic. I can take that for him. How much do we
owe you?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
He thrust the screen that displayed the receipt in her face.

She signed it and transferred the credits.

Kali took the orange star shaped box from him with
another smile. “He ordered this box? He’s going all out on this date, huh?
Thanks for delivering this far inland so late. I added four hundred credits tip
to the bill. Make sure you get it. I know Dod can be greedy. Max is always
being cheated out of his tips. Oh, it’s my turn to shoot. I’ve got to go. I’m
sure I’ll see you next time. Promise you’ll drive safely, okay? I know you have
a FloBi,” she shook her head. “So dangerous. Bye then.”

She bounced off, leaving Blue staring after her
with a feeling akin to being punched in the gut.

8.

“Pull
the trigger, Bella. The trigger.” Jumping out of his seat, Max marched to his
ditsy blonde date and helped her position herself.

Even with him guiding her, she missed the
holographic target. Again. Giggling, Christabella fluttered her eyelashes and
begged him to show her how the rifle worked. Again.

Kali was going to jump over the console and try to
strangle her. Again.