Steven Campbell - Suck My Cosmos

I had to close my mouth because I felt the cable trying to snake in. I was slowing considerably and the more I struggled, the tighter the wire became.

He threw another that practically hit me in the waist.

It exploded with so much wire I couldn’t see. I was encased in the stuff.

I knew he was over there, though, so I kept pushing. I could feel the coils digging into my flesh as others broke and sprung free. But I couldn’t generate enough momentum. I was stuck. I couldn’t even fall over.

This , I really hated!

I came to in prison.

I mean, I was pretty sure it was prison. It was a small room with bars on one side, a toilet, and a bed. There were similar small rooms similarly barred across the hall.

It was either a prison or a store where they sold prison accessories.

What happened? I had some vague memories.

I heard footsteps and MTB walked in with a chair and sat in front of my cell.

“How do you feel?” he asked me.

I stood up. Shook my head around. Flexed my hands.

“I feel great,” I said, surprised. “Though I’m not sure why I’m here. I didn’t kill Ray’Ziel.”

“You don’t remember going on a rampage?” he asked, skeptical.

I thought back. I did remember some things. Why did I do all that?

“‘Rampage,’ that’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?”

“You injured a half-dozen police in two Districts, three C.O.’s, and four unlucky people who just happened to get in your way.”

I stared at him.

“You’re kidding.”

“When have you known me to be kidding?” he said accurately.

“I don’t remember any of that. I remember you using some wire bombs on me,” I said, annoyed.

“ That you remember? Out of everything?”

“Well…it hurt.”

“It was supposed to cripple you.”

“Why would you try and cripple me? We worked together for years.”

“You were throwing around police cars and heading straight for us. I tried stopping you and you didn’t want to be stopped.”

“I can’t throw around cars,” I said. “I’m strong but not that strong.”

“Look at you, you’re not even hurt. You don’t have a scratch. Well, a few on your face, but you’re in a lot better shape than those people in the hospital. When you had your body…changed, was this part of the process?”

There was a time I was much larger than I was now. It was a side effect of my mutation. I grew denser and denser every day. Decades ago I was near death because I had become so thick that my organs were failing. But I got a second chance when a mutant with pretty much godlike power remade my body and erased centuries of mutation. I was now a lot weaker, but at least I wasn’t having regular heart attacks due to my massive weight.

Still, I was never as strong as MTB described.

Why did I leave the house? I recalled being so angry. Not at anything in particular. Just angry. Angry enough to go running—which was angry indeed.

MTB jerked me out of my daydreaming.

“Hank. What do you have to say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was adrenaline?” I hazarded.

“Adrenaline from what?”

“A nightmare?” I smiled weakly. “I was asleep right before.”

MTB sat there glowering.

“You didn’t look asleep.”

“Well, I do have a License to Hurt, that should cover things, right?” I asked.

“Are you serious? That doesn’t apply to police!”

“Oh. So am I going to face trial?”

It didn’t matter too much about what jobs I had if I really did beat up some District cops and C.O.’s. I’d be in jail for a long while.

But now MTB looked uncomfortable.

“No. You posted bail.”

“I did?” I asked, surprised. “You’re letting me out?”

“I’m not letting you do anything. Even the Central Authority reports to people.”

I was collecting my things, which consisted of my underwear—they had been kind enough to let me wear a prison jumpsuit—when I saw Malla waiting in the lobby.

My heart skipped a beat.

I had a moronic hope that she was here to see someone else. Like she knew a bunch of people in prison.

“Hank,” she smiled, standing.

She was alone. And she was wearing a different notasta ferret coat than she had been wearing before. How could anyone have so much money?

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I had you released into my service.”

“I don’t work for you. Do I? I mean, that’s over. Your husband isn’t cheating. He’s dead.”

I had been hired to find this woman by the entire City Council and she was making it hard for me to pretend I hadn’t by standing in front of me and bailing me out of prison.

“But Hank, if we end our relationship, you’ll be free of our secrecy agreement.”

She said it politely as usual, but I got the sense that the agreement might be keeping me alive.

“Why isn’t Cliston here? He should have gotten me out,” I said to no one in particular.

“Cliston would never set foot in a penitentiary. He teled me you were here.”

“What?” That stupid robot.

“This is your first payment,” she said, holding out an envelope.

I put up my hands like she was trying to give me nuclear waste. I shouldn’t be seen with this woman, let alone talking to her, let alone getting paid by her. I looked around to see if anyone noticed.

Rendrae.

Fat, green, old Rendrae. He was sitting there, blending into the wall, his eyes the size of asteroids.

Rendrae was a news man. An editor and reporter and publisher. Out of all the shifting phases in Belvaille’s existence there was still Rendrae.

Always watching. Always reporting.

The one person I didn’t want to be sitting there snooping and listening to me talk to the murdered City Councilman’s wife was sitting there snooping and listening. This would be in tonight’s newspaper.

He ran the most popular news site in the Belvaille System. It was simply called The News . And it could keep that lofty title because anything of importance usually found its way there.

We went back a long ways, me and him. But not so long he wouldn’t run this story. And it’s not like I could threaten him in the lobby of the Central Authority jail.

“Come on,” I said to Malla.

I pulled her out and looked back at the building. Rendrae had his whole fat face pressed against the glass watching us go.

“What are you doing?” I asked Cliston in horror.

My whole first floor was in ruins.

“Remodeling, sir. Your payment has arrived.”

“I’m sure it will be marvelous,” Malla cooed.

I hadn’t wanted her to come, but she drove me home from prison and followed me inside.

“How did you know I got paid? She just gave it to me,” I said, looking down at Malla’s envelope.

“From Maris-To,” Cliston answered.

Gerk. The payment, presumably, to research the very lady who was standing next to me.

“Maris-To. My husband worked with him quite a bit. He’s a charming man. Are you his servant now?” she asked pleasantly.

“No! I mean, who?” I fumbled.

“Oh, of course. You can’t say.”

“Would you like a drink? I want a drink,” I said.

I went to where the liquor cabinet used to be but it was gone.

“Cliston, where’s the booze?”

“Here, sir.”

He walked to the other side of the room and flicked a switch. An enormous carousel lowered from the ceiling and began spinning slowly. It was filled with about a billion trillion bottles of alcohol.

“You’re kidding me. When did you have this put in?”

“When you were…detained, sir.”