My instructions were simple at that point. Get to his brother’s shop. Unload the goods. Don’t do anything that would put me on the radar. And don’t die. Not that dying would be of consequence to Steve. So long as step one was achieved he’ll be making money off it anyway. Not directly. Not even indirectly. His money siphoning skills were beyond me, but I know it would come back to him just as naturally through his means. As far as that last mandate, maybe he really cared about me. I suspect deep down inside he found this as fun as I did.
I won’t say where or how, but I made it to Steve’s brother’s, Steve 2.
Operation’s like Steve’s can’t take place solely in his sanctuary, it wouldn’t thereby be very sanct. Uploads and downloads need to be, if traced, traced somewhere else. Big business often involves millions and billions of microtransactions. And what better cover than a seedy little pawn shop in some transit terminal that deals in cash and anonymous wire transfers.
The transit terminal looked like an indoor landfill. There was trash and shit, and I don’t know what that smell was but I had to throw away those shoes afterwards. I don’t think it was me. I know what my funk smells like after not showering for long periods of time. Crime ridden areas are not too different in their variety of flavors. This one was one of the more common, not so glamorous sorts. A yellow guy with big blue bug eyes and a lot of antennas was peddling something. Everyone has a hustle. Fortunately I’m immune to treating others around me with compassion. You know, like a human.
Steve 2 was as ever faithfully in his booth with metal grates and a small opening for exchanges. I call him Steve 2 because he was identical, physically to Steve. At some point, I believe he referred to him as his brother and it stuck. I never bothered to question it further. I suspected it was either a clone, a twin that received lopsided genes for cognitive abilities, or a robot or hologram. Either way, not my place to ask. The ramifications are obvious, whatever the case may be. If anyone ever wanted Steve, they’d get a Steve. A Steve that wouldn’t say – or care – much.
Steve 2 sat up right on his stool as I approached the window.
“Two tickets to paradise, please,” I requested, putting the chips through the slot.
Silent Steve took the chips and disappeared somewhere in the back of the booth. Reason would stand that Steve told Steve 2 that I was coming. Normally my transactions occur right there at a small terminal. Particularly hot items go elsewhere I guess. Like, not in the booth. I supposed there was a port in the booth. Which would be smart, so long as no one has access to where it goes or the port on the other side. Conspiracy theories abound.
Steve the second came back with a paper wrapped box just big enough to fit through the slot.
I took the box and left.
The doppelganger thing was still bothering me, though. I turned back, rather conspicuously, to gaze at him again. He just stood there with those dull, lifeless eyes, like a Java the Hut doll’s eyes. Yeah, he had to be a robot. It’s always robots. If I ever see Steve again I’m going to ask him where he gets his doubles. I bet they explode too when trapped, destroying both the subject, the aggressor, and the evidence. That would be dope. I’d call it my dopplebanger.
Next order of business was to find my ship.
You’re damn right I have a space ship. How the hell else would I get around out here? Space is pretty ducking big.
Side note. I just discovered this thing has auto erect.
No one paid any attention to me as I walked through the terminal. There were several good reasons for this. A. This was the kind of place people generally minded their own business. 2. Since I’ve been here I had seen at least two individuals that had wanted flyers with much better quality pictures than me. Bullet point.
Damn. It didn’t make just a black dot.
- There we go.
- There is a meta slash psychological tactic that works on both humans and aliens.
Some aliens have a greater degree of deception with it since sentient and telepathical skills vary. I refer to this cloaking device as ‘big dick energy.’ In a way, along the way, I have achieved this transcendence. Through strict contemplations and manipulation of my alpha waves I have made it as far as being the most wanted creature in much of the universe. Concurrently, not a single soul around me noticed me. If I don’t want to be noticed, I think boring. Important job interview? Picking up a date? They want the D. They want the D. The right mantra will take you to the right place. Or at least take your aura to the right place. The rest is on you. There’s a reason why nobody messes with the crazy guy. There’s an aura he puts off via alpha waves that wards of betas. I used to win fights by fighting. Then I could win fights by yelling. Then looking. Eventually I didn’t even need to be in the same room to win the fight because it had already been won in my opponents mind before they could think past hostile action.
Where was I going with this? See how effective it is. I don’t even know where I’m going.
Oh, right. To my ship.
There was no way I was taking any of the trams or flights there. That would be pushing it. They came and went frequently enough, and to enough places. If anyone did recognize me, or cognatively cognize me in any way, all it would essentially confirm is that I’m somewhere in the solar system. If they just missed me. Within about five minutes, they might catch me in the galaxy. Puts Earth public transportation to shame.
Exhaustion was starting to come over me in the dark dank subway. I had been going around the clock since the start of that doomed mission. Falling asleep was the last thing I could afford to do on the run. So before I could find my ship I’d have to find some go go powder. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Once I fake my death I’m taking the best nap of my life.
Truth be told, that was the most time I had ever spent in that town. Yes, just standing there thinking for a moment was longer than I normally linger.
Then I remembered the package under my arm.
I passed a food stand just as the attendant was busy with a customer. One less kabob of alien sewer rat was present once I cleared it. To a dark crevasse I took with my box and my stolen rat. Where else would I go?
It was actually a decent rat. Not too dry. Almost like a jerked teriyaki.
Fumbling with the kabob and the box, I managed to get the string off of it. Then the paper. Then the code deactivated exploding lock. A lot of things explode out here, alright?
First thing I found was the gun. Naturally. There was money of various types. A few chips. Some paper. Who the hell used paper money anymore? Some money in the form of various solid shapes. I guess anyway. Some drugs. A note. And a bobble top blue hula skirt girl with three tits. It’s an inside joke.
Turned out Wade was looking out for me as well, by proxy.
I pocketed the gun, souvenir, the cash, did the drugs, and read the note. Characters that I couldn’t begin to describe beyond being letters and numbers made three simple lines. They were instructions. A short cut to help me out of there.
The first tram on the list was pulling into the station. I dropped a coin, the one shaped like a segmented turd, onto the kabob shack’s counter, taking another rat kabob. The vendor’s face contorted and looked confusedly towards the payment, not even looking at me. I don’t know if the amount was correct or if he was wondering why I was paying for two. It felt like the value of two rat kabobs. Or maybe I just paid him with something entirely inappropriate; it did look like a turd after all. Maybe it was. These are things we may never know.
I got on the tram. There was an empty seat at the back corner near an exit. I took it. All was going swimmingly, all considered.
Then the pain started.
Pain shot through my face and nose, the likes of which it had never experienced. This coming from a man whose been hit in the face more times than he cares to admit. Spam after spasm twisted my face along with my whole existence. The sensations lasted years in some solar systems, but that one at that time it was probably only a few seconds.
When I came to, the little box came into my vision. It sat there on my lap, the flaps half closed. There was something written on the back of the packet of powder I hadn’t noticed. A simple white label with writing. It said:
SWALLOW DON’T SNORT IT OR IT’LL HURT LIKE HELL
Remember kids, always read the manual first.
Sitting there, languishing from the phantom pains still passing over my face, I noticed something. No matter how advanced technology gets, glass is still reflective in a greasy subway. The tram was moving as well. When that started, I couldn’t say. I wasn’t even sure if it was a land tram or space tram. But in the passing streaks of light on the glass I saw a stranger sitting in my seat.
Looking around no one seemed aware of my existence. Whether the feature changing drug was necessary was a moot point now. I’d be having words with Wade about it.
The story gets a bit boring there. Hopefully it’s not already boring as shit. Several changeovers later and a port or two to here and there, I made it to my ship. Where my ship was put was also a bit of an annoyance, and hopefully unnecessary. Not to mention creepy. The final instruction on the list was actually a set of coordinates. Coordinates that in order to get to I had to walk through about two hours of moon glowing crags on the edge of a desert. Bad memories.
But that…is another story.
But there it was. The closest thing I had to a home away from home. My truck, so to speak. Gray and angular, discretely hidden in the shadows.
Shaking off the lingering doom of the environment I entered the hatch. A few flicks of switches and the lights were on, doors were locked. A voice came overhead spouting jibberish. A number of security measures were involved. Something was coming through the comms as I was trying to prevent my ship from exploding. You know, killing me. Too busy to die today.
“You’re in jeopardy,” a voice came.
The security system kept spouting off.
“I know in Jeopardy!” I yelled at my ship.
The voice came again, mingling with the security system.
“You need to get out of there,” the other voice came again. “You are in jeopardy.”
“I’m aware I’m in Jeopardy. I’m the one who named the ship.”
This wasn’t my first ship. The first was the apply named SS Danger. May she rest in peace.
More voices.
I shut off the radio.
“What is the air laden speed of a peacock?” the ship asked me.
“Peacocks don’t fly, asshole.”
The security systems deactivated.