This short story was my attempt at science fiction but I know nothing of science. So, it may be better to call it a future fiction tale. This is a little longer than my other shorts. Please give "Edgar" a shot if you have the time and I hope you enjoy it.
“Edgar”
By
James Hogan
I live in a room with a shower, a
bed that folds into the wall, and a teeny tiny little closet for my hat and
jacket. There is a drawer under my wall bed filled with guns, booze, various
psychoactive drugs, and the book “Small Gods” by Terry Pratchett.
I took the book from a tenement
clean up. It’s rare to see bound books around these days. Most paper books have
been burned for heat.
My room has no windows. There is a
view screen for getting on-line and watching television. My screen saver
usually projects a serene countryside painted orange, pink, and blue by a
setting sun. I imagine that there are very little rural areas left because of
all the damn people. I only know this city. I have never left this city.
I cherish my room. The room is
equipped with killer air purification and conditioning systems. I keep it cold.
Cold to where my toes feel as if they would break apart like glass if I were to
knock them against something hard. I have to keep it cold because out there, in
City 23, it’s always hot. Hot as the Devil’s taint, even in winter. Just so
many damn people too close together. Causing a constant caustic friction that
slowly burns this city.
***
Too early in the morning and the
phone starts to ring. CAW! CAW! Why did I choose “the crows” ring tone? CAW!
Every caw causes hairline fractures to spider web across my tender morning time
skull. It’s time to end this cawing madness.
“This better be good.” I grumble to
my caller.
“Let’s get
to work Edgar. We’re together today you old bastard.” Said a voice filled with youth and sarcasm.
“What the
fuck Kat? I was on late shift last night.” I protested.
“What,
pulling skanks and lifting shit off kids?” Kat said as if calling “check mate!”
I could not protest this
accusation. I love the whores and I take what I want from delinquents. Beats
doing paper work.
Kat has me pegged. She is twenty-two
years old and two years out of the Army. The force puts us together when her
case loads overflow. Kat’s feisty with the mouth of a motor pool soldier. She’s
also easy on the eyes but don’t let her catch you looking because she’s a bad
ass and trained killer. I enjoy our time together despite her tendency to try
and keep me in check. She’s the only non-degenerate scumfuck I have in my life.
“Yeah,
yeah, Kat. How hard is a trip to my corner?”
“No way!” She yells, a little too
loud for my brain. “City 23 coffee, be there or be square. The scaffolds are
down from your place to Struggle St.”
“Why?” I
ask confused.
“Small riot
on Desperation, gang kids went after our patrol guards. Our guys cut the ramps
between your place and Desperation Ave. They shot down sixteen thugs while
waiting for an airlift out of that mess.” She explained. “I thought you were on
the late beat Detective. You weren’t there for clean up Edgar?” Her sarcasm
came through loud and clear.
“Shut up!”
“Okay
asshole,” she replies cheerfully “I’m giving you an hour and a half to meet.
Ha! Good luck amongst humanity, rubbing elbows with the cool kids. I’ll get you
a coffee.”
“Thanks
kid. I’ll see you when I get there.” I say trying to sound upbeat while the
pain coursing through my head betrays my tone. I always come off sounding
gruff.
Humanity is a hard word for my brain
to define. Parasites, lines of ants, and
hyenas tearing away at each other while trying to consume an Earth made of
stone, flesh, and muscle. Everyone is poor except for the Leaders, the
Creators, and the Managers. I have never seen or met a Leader or Creator but I
have had run-ins with “Cash Suits” when there are problems near or in the
business district. This is a rare happening, considering the Pritech guards patrol
during the day; automated turrets and kill-bots watch over at night. Crime
usually isn’t reported from the business district. If anything goes down there,
it usually disappears quietly.
I once had a call about an
automated turret misfire that took out five people. I made the scene in twelve
minutes and there was nothing there except a Pritech guard stationed in front
of an empty turret point. He said there was no gunfire and that the turret had
been gone for repairs for two days. Nothing but a waste of time, so I left
thinking of the fact that turrets are always replaced never repaired. “Cashers”
can make anything or anyone disappear.
Anxieties
try to shut down my system as I ready to meet up with Kat. I am going to have
to move amongst the people. Thoughts of skipping over puddles of vomit and
blood are not agreeing with my motor functions. I stand frozen enjoying the air
conditioning, fearing that when I leave my room it will be the same world full
of the same filthy bodies I escaped yesterday. With no agenda or purpose
citizens wander aimlessly until they are wedged into the flesh crevices of a pedestrian
jam.
Theft, rape, and gang violence are
part of life. It seems causing grief to one another every minute of the day is
the job of a stand up citizen. Why is it this way? There is nothing for people
to do but survive and wait to die. There is very little work to be had. Most
avoid the competition of work, seeing too many friends gain hope and shine
after attaining a back breaking labor position only to have me come and
investigate their murder. Murder is the highest cause of employee turnover in
New City. Hell, murder is practically a sport. Wonder if the “cashers” see
death every day, like we in the city do? They might, but living day to day for
them must be pretty easy. They go somewhere else at six o’ clock while those of
us born in New City aren’t allowed to leave.
The city is where the majority of
mankind is left to rot. Millions of people piled into its walls. The cleanest
part of the place is the Business district, five square miles of paved roads,
silver skyscrapers, and turrets. No one from the city is allowed in the
business district. Every morning at three o clock security motorcades make
their way to the business district. Half an hour after they arrive, the
helicopters start to come, shaking the Earth with the racket of propellers.
This is followed by Pritech security taking their post. Six o’clock at night
they pack up and leave until the next morning. In the meantime automated
turrets and kill bots keep the citizens of New City out of the business
district.
I throw on my coat and hat. My coat used to be a tan overcoat that now
more resembles desert camouflage than anything. A couple of black streaks
tarnish the sleeves and elbows. Various
stains create an optical illusion with the hues of tan. Thankfully my hat,
which is a dark brown replica of hats men wore in the “Cash Age” called
Fedoras, has always matched up well with the coat. I may look a mess at times
but being a cop affords my weekly shower and a once a month laundry pick up.
Most live an entire life showering only in summer and spring during city hose
down. Unemployment rates of 72% bring an unholy stench that turns stomachs upon
first whiff. The odor does not permeate my apartment but in the hallway awaits
a warm up stench to mildly prepare one’s self for the main bout of human filth
verses nose. Pat, one of the hall guards, says he he’ll “take the rank of the
hall over the shit of the street any day”. I love my air conditioning and wish that I
would never have to leave it.
Until
Pat and the other guards came for hallway duty it was kind of sketchy making
one’s way to their room. We used to have automatic turrets. That little arrangement
ended in the accidental deaths of sixty-three occupants. Now we have low level
Pritech guards, one stationed to each hallway. Tenants know to have our home
identification tags ready. It is our responsibility to produce it within the
ten second warning time or else someone like Pat is ordered to shoot dead any
unknowns. According to Pat, he’s only had to kill one “sunofa bitch” in my
hallway so far. Pat is kind of a weirdo, he leans his chair against the wall
and plays video games all day and sometimes he pumps his fist in the air for no
reason. I think it is his red hair that protrudes from his security cap that
disturbs me the most. Still, I choose Pat over the automated turret system any
day of the week.
My
brain swells against sharp stalactites that booby trap my skull. I have to face
the day and the people in the streets. Oh, the streets. I’m very lucky to have
a room. I was an officer in the Army. I helped to clean the street with fire
and brutality. As reward for my service I was guaranteed a room with air and
purification for as long as I live. Most paying jobs in New City are City Law
Enforcement and Pritech Security. I chose to be a New City cop. I face a lot of
death and other ugliness but I don’t have to kill as much. Pritech does street
sweep twice a month. They enter what is believed to be a high violation
neighborhood half block and exterminate any living thing on the streets. I’ve
heard of sweeps taking over fifty thousand lives. I know this because afterwards I always get
called to lead the investigations to show the justification for Pritech's blood
parades. At least I’m not the one doing all the killing anymore. All I want is
less blood on my hands and a kick ass air conditioning system.
I
have no idea how anyone makes it in the alleys, on six foot by six foot squares
claimed and fought for daily. A family of three kept a square out front for
five years. That had to be a record. Now the spot occupies a fat man with no
shirt that seems to have tired from making snow angels on the concrete. I
should probably check to see if he’s alive when I go out today. I hate the
streets because I have a room. I have a room with air.
How
will I face this day? Will my head explode before I make it out the door?
Besides
the horrid aromas of street, nothing comes as much of a shock anymore.
Initiation into gangs for example, kids are dispatching any living family
members to show loyalty to their new crime family. Theft is a sport. I do not
know one person that has not been robbed. And prostitution sadly, can start as
young as birth. I once walked up on a mother negotiating prices with two men on
her new born. That day didn’t end well. I shot all four of them. The newborn
would have been eaten or worse. Street living is rough.
The street population does what it
can through trade. There’s not a whole lot I’d want off the street, maybe a new
hat at some point. There are barbers; they will cut hair and whatever is in it.
The “ratmen” will trade rat meat and hide, for fabric and bait. Countless shoe
boxes filled with insect’s line the curbs. They are watched over diligently by
the gang kids who are paid six crickets each for their protection of the bugs.
Insects are one of the streets main food trades but there are other options.
Those
of us on the force get our food bars and drinking water at the station. The
city tries to get monthly food rations to the citizens. This usually ends up in
chaos and riots. The food stations pick up and leave, while Pritech and
kill-bots arrive to shoot the disgruntled. Most of the rationed food that gets out on the
market is traded for acts of crime, sex, drugs, or “long pig.”
Eating human is a repulsive thought.
I do not partake myself, but the smell of “long pig” barbeques on the street
beats out most other scents I encounter. It’s common practice that when a
street pack has a family member pass, they immediately clean the corpse to keep
the meat as fresh as possible. Then most of the meat is traded off after a
memorial party. At these memorials, song, laughter and the smell of human barbeque
fill the night air. It’s horrifying when city blocks are cleansed of “Rage
Disease”. It is caused by the consumption of human brain. This whole damn city
is a nightmare. Suffering has been normality as long as I can remember but
there is still a reptilian part of the human spirit that knows none of this is
right. How can I face another day?
CAW! CAW!
My first thought
is “Oh shit, crows!” then realize it’s just my dumb phone. New waves of pain
course through my head. I answer.
“Edgar?” It’s Kat and I pause
realizing that I still have to face the day. “Edgar? Earth to Edgar, come in!”
“Yeah Kat” I
answer lazily knowing that my focus for the day has changed from work to air
conditioning.
“It’s been two
hours Edgar! Where the hell are you?” Kat ask sounding more than frustrated. If
she only knew that my head was heading towards the final ten seconds of
detonation she would keep her voice down. “Are you getting close E?”
“I can’t do it” I whisper
reluctantly “I just can’t do it, I’m not coming in Kat.” I wait through an
uncomfortable silence knowing I should have turned the volume down on my phone.
“No! No, no, no,
no!” Her screaming causes my brain to bleed pain through my temples and
eyeballs. “Not today jerkass, you can’t do this to me today.”
I can hear her
breathing heavily like a pacing caged tiger on the other end of the line, in
wait for my response. I just want my head to stop throbbing so I stay silent
and wait for another explosion of sound from her end.
“Why?” she asks.
I was expecting a lot more than one word to spill from her mouth. Let’s see how
the rest of this goes.
“My brain
hurts.” I respond.
What? Ha! You are such a dick Edgar
Q. Lynch! It’s madness out here and tons of work to be done. I can’t scrape
away the filth without my partner. My pussy partner, that can’t make it to work
today because his goddamned brain hurts”!
“I’m pretty sure
it’s bleeding.” I interject.
“Shut up cock
gerbil! You know the cases will just keep building up. I need your help today.
Edgar please, get your ass down here so we can work.” Kat sounds exhausted.
“If today were
tomorrow or yesterday Kat, I would hear the exact same lines from you. I need
today Kat. I promise that in the morning there will be more murders, crime, and
strife. All the ugliness will be piled in an angry heaving mass just waiting
for us to take it on. I promise that there will be so much ugliness for us that
every mirror in the city will break! Just give me today Kat. Please.” She leaves
me hanging for a minute so I awkwardly yell into the line “Fuck mankind today!
We will serve them better tomorrow!”
“Edgar? You still there?” Kat asks.
“Yeah Kat, I
am.”
“Does your brain still hurt?” she asks with
actual concern.
“After talking
with you my friend, it hurts more than ever.” I reply
“Ha!” She
laughs. I like to know she’s smiling.
“Kat this world
just gets to be too much. We deal with it on the streets and in our minds.
Today it has just became too much. Understand?”
“Yeah boss I
do.” Kat whispers.
“Cool.” I say.
“Edgar,” Kat
says. I can hear the volume rising in her voice again.
“Yeah Kat?” I
ask.
“Have a great
day and enjoy your air conditioning!”
“Thanks kiddo
will do.” I hang up, take a deep breath of purified air and prepare to enjoy my
one luxury. Until I wake up tomorrow.
