Wiggle Room Ch. 1

Just something im writing on, in the style of Richard K. Morgan (Altered Carbon)

Wiggle Room

Ch. 1

      I woke up in the back of a cab. It smelled like industrial cleaner and I wondered just how many spent children I was wallowing in. Omni-world incense wafted back from the front cabin. Who burns that s**t anymore, and what the hell was in this damp paper bag lying next to me on the seat?

Damn…

I was still alive.

Moving to get a better view of my driver was regrettable. There was definitely something wrong with my neck. I noticed the coppery smell of blood before I reached above my collarbone to assess the damage. I placed my fingers near the pain and probed. How familiar, a hole. I needed a new job. I needed another drink. Checking myself in the rear view mirror past the driver, who had himself taken a similar interest in my animation, I noted that s****y was an understatement. No more drinks.

      “What’s going on pal?” I tried filling my voice with metal.

      “You tell me cowboy, anything I should be worried about? You look pretty banged up.” He arched an eyebrow, and I noticed his right hand relax on the wheel. He had a weapon close by.

      “No trouble.” I grimaced and moved to feel the friendly weight of my pulse-thrower under my left arm. “Where did you pick me up?”

“Helluva night huh? I didn’t pick you up, you sort of fell into the cab.” I saw the creases in his glove spread as he tightened his grip a bit more. “You were down by Metro, a club called the Hourglass. You’re lucky my wife n’ kids been hassling me for credit. The fact that I was stuck behind a trasher, with the fire, and all the… “

      Screaming.

      I started to remember. The club, the rotten stench of recent sex and hot breath, piss and smoke. I knew the place.

      “Hey, I’m a casualty.” I motioned to my stained clothes. Twisting my damaged neck towards my window I toggled the fractal tint, croaking, “view.”

      The city of Lucky Down assaulted me with all of its industrial smoke and ash, Omni-world neon promises, and less than desirable colonists. Lucky Down was aptly named for the one in a million landing its original colonial cruiser made through the constant atmospheric storms, and once unnavigable jagged and rocky teal-gray terrain. The buildings and establishments hexed into the rocky maw like pieces of dimly colored shrapnel proved again the tenacity of humanity. Up close, the rocks were pubescent. The skewed balance of the nitrogen oxygen atmosphere felt heavy in your lungs, allowed the exposure of different forms of organic life on this moon, and was produced in totality by an extra-terrestrial moss-like substance called Material Ar, which ferociously encroached upon every unchecked surface. It was a grayish greenish hue, and spread like wildfire through a process scientifically termed Spore Oxidation. The iron content of the moon rock provided the perfect petri dish for this entity, and wreaked havoc on navigational equipment. It smelled like dangerous socks. I remembered at once, reading, that several hundred thousands of A.I. Eco Drones, in coordination with intrusive diggers, satellites and human power even, was necessary to map the surface of Volgograd-Osaka; the entire moon, was a tetanus bear trap.

            There was a Lekani or “Lizard” presence on V.O. as well. Lekani was the easiest way to pronounce the name of their species, which in their native language sounded like the word Lekani, dumped into a mixing bowl full of pennies, steel wool and tapioca. Calling them “roughly humanoid” was an overstatement. With four strong, doubly jointed, suction claw tipped legs, dragon-like trunk-torsos, serpentine necks, and dry yellow eyes set in flat scaly heads, they looked more like hellish lizard centaurs. They stood three to four, wide feet tall, and the most eerie thing about them was that their bodies were always asymmetric; under proofed. They were not “civilized,” they did not build, or work; they just survived.

Their kind flourished through this part of the galaxy. From surrounding iron rich planets, their form of space travel was brutal, often fatal, and originally involuntary. Their bodies, during normal states, contained little to no trace gases, and could withstand deep space. Synthesizing only consumed materials (almost anything organic) they could enter a state of rocklike hibernation which could only be broken with harsh physical stimuli. Unbroken, this torpid state could theoretically last forever.

      Geothermal vents on the surface of their planet, Lekani, exploded with such force that through the low gravity, and random eruptions, the bodies of the lizards were projected up through the thin atmosphere of their planet and into space itself. Here they drifted until crashing down onto the celestial bodies they encountered. The Lekani harbor amazing regenerative capabilities. Surviving reentrance at terminal velocity, depending on the gravitational pull of the satellite, precludes the violent end to hibernation, subsequent healing, and resumed life. Unbeknownst to the Lekani, traces of Material Ar, which they eat, grow in and on their bodies. Pending survival, they travel efficiently, as the Material Ar can quickly multiply into a viable food source. They were present on V.O. when humans arrived, and have been found on nearly all surrounding surface worlds.

      Surrounding their planet is an orbiting cloud of lizard bodies and planetary material, dead and lifeless. It is a taboo subject while in the presence of Lekani, even though it is doubtful they understand spacer language; but after space travel to and from V.O., it is not uncommon to witness the automated ship cleaners wiping and picking lizard entrails out of the creases of ships. Provoked, the Lekani are thoroughly violent creatures, so this is probably for the best.

      Interestingly enough, what can be transcribed as humor from their “conversations,” as deciphered by the best of A.I., usually includes the discussion of gravity. Their laughter is the equivalent of a human being shaking feverishly at paint mixer speed.

      Sick.

The cabbie and I were cruising through Lucky Central, capital of egregious organic damage, and some of the best damn food around. 

      “What do I owe you? You can let me off here.”

      The driver smiled like a cat. “You already paid me.”

      I knew the man hadn’t rifled through my pockets, or this would have been an entirely different scene. Nano-cybernetic brain augments would have jolted me out of my stupor with a little adrenal-stimulant and he wouldn’t have had any fingers. Amazing what we have done with the subconscious these days. I didn’t feel like an argument, I must have slipped him some credit. Smooth.

      He pulled over. I reached for the door and almost threw up in pain. My arm was broken.

      “Damn.”

      “What did you say?” The driver’s eyebrow gained altitude.

      “Nothing, this is fine.”

      Opening the door I stepped out into the cool air. It smelled faintly of street disinfectant, trying its best to counter the fortuitous miasma of Material Ar. I turned to thank him and perhaps even hand him a business chip; he seemed ex-military and you never know when you could use discreet transportation. He was racing down the street, smart man.

I turned back too an unlikely duo.  

Amazing, the cabbie could have at least winked.

      “For the Maker fellas. I am not having a good night.”

       The lizard was a tangle of equipment, some legal and some definitely under the radar; long reptilian cheekbones and a fuzzy fanged rocky leer made my skin crawl. Gray papery skin gave away to the dusty teal of Material Ar that lived symbiotically on his body. The suction tips claws rippled on the causeway and flexed, looking like squidgy daggers. The lizard’s human counterpart had a little grace to him, and definitely struck me as a combatant; a shorter man, broad, with Asiatic features from the old earth, and sinewy, maybe organized crime family member gone rogue. He was high and his eyes were purple, the telltale sign of recent leech usage; maybe some calico as well judging by the clenching of his facial muscles. The leech kept emotions away while the calico provided rocket fuel for your central nervous system and fast twitch muscle fibers. It was a common combination for streeters. Standard thug hardware; long blade tucked in at the waist, shoddy pulse thrower in hand, shadowed by his torso as he stood sideways in an awkward gunfighters stance, and very dirty teeth. I wanted to break his mouth for his mother’s sake.     

“You look something like an off-worlder,” Said dirty mouth, shifting anxiously on his feet, the calico coursing like ants through his axioms.

“You look something like an a*****e.” I responded.

The Lekani shivered slightly, laughing, cold features still stoic, and I was unnerved; I swore they didn’t understand spacer. Teeth grunted and his hand snaked for his knife, a grin stretching evilly.

“You got shitted onto the wrong corner in the wrong sector off-worlder.”

      “Look kid.” I growled. “This ain’t no backyard barbeque.”

      He probably did not know what a barbeque was.

      “You pull that blade and you have me stomping your mouth through your a*s and f*****g your friend’s appetite up for life,” I hissed. Stepping forward I clenched my teeth through a growl as the spider web of synthetic muscle tissue took control of my bones and wrenched my broken arm into place. I grew a visible two inches as my spine was stretched forcibly.

It always hurt.

      Dirty mouth hesitated, then howled, leaping towards me arm outstretched; the filthy blade shown blood rust in the bio-lamplight. I leaned in chopping with my left hand; bracing against his body as the inertia spun us. My foot found purchase behind his heel and his free hand wheeled as he lost his balance. I brought my right elbow down into his gut as it was arched upwards during his ungraceful fall, and my jacket snapped at the motion as I connected. Out of the corner of eye I surveyed the lizard, still a statue.

Son of a B***h.

Dirty Teeth gasped as he landed forcefully on my well placed knee, and I closed my eyes to the wet crunch of spinal, ripping and tearing. I almost instantly smelled s**t.

      The lizard was a pawn, and I finally understood. It had probably just been standing here minding its own business, quite possible even hibernating in one of its torpid states before my broken friend here decided to use its presence for intimidation. I had heard of the tactic before. I was worried however, about the possibility of having to fight the thing. They weren’t too quick, but they were strong, sharp tanks.

But wait. Didn’t it laugh?

“You broke my back,” Teeth spat, contorting on the street, mouth opening and closing, frothing, teeth gnashing. He was definitely on the leech, and un-phased by the shock his eyes were locked onto me. His pupils took almost the entirety of his eye, bleeding purple out into the whites as a telltale sign of his addiction.

I kicked him in the chin when I intuited the reach for the gun. His head snapped back and he was very still. Standing erect, balancing myself by placing my outward foot on his ankle, I wrenched my foot savagely as I rose.

Crack.

Already, my adrenal-stimulant was raging, violently, through my agency conditioned cortex. Since my arm was on borrowed time I took the opportunity to light a cigarette. The lizard was still and stared off into the distance behind me as I slowly inhaled, and so I drifted off into an alleyway, not without noticing the red, brooding and hungry eyes of creatures - organic and otherwise - slinking towards Teeth’s prone body.