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Pulp Fedcom
by Andrew Borelli |
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24 FEB 3063
SILESIA, BLACKTHORNE DISTRICT
STEINER ZONE, SOLARIS CITY
SOLARIS VII
Forty minutes later…
Marcus Flint opened his eyes first. He glanced over to his right and saw Dutch Carter gagged and tied to a pole that ran from the ceiling to the floor. The light in the room wasn’t good. It took him a second or two to
notice he was tied to an identical pole, his mouth also gagged.
The store clerk waved a small tub of something under Dutch’s nose. Dutch sputtered and gagged, then sprang awake. Inexplicably someone had dressed and bandaged Dutch's shoulder and Flint's knee.
“Good.”
The clerk moved over to Flint, only to see the gangster already conscious.
“Ah, you’re with us. Excellent.”
With that the clerk placed the small tub of salve back into the top pocket of his tunic. He stood about five feet nine inches tall, with thinning hair he kept combed straight back. His face spoke of Free Worlds origin. He seemed well groomed. His frame was small and wiry, though his arms and chest showed some tone.
They were in a basement of some kind; probably under the store, Flint surmised. It wasn’t the dank, dirty sort of place one might have expected from an old basement, but rather cold, unremarkable, and antiseptic.
The walls were plain granite except for a series of power conduits and an access panel on the wall near a set of stairs that led up. The ceiling was low, the only light from a single low-wattage unit in the center of the
room.
Then the bottom began to slowly drop out of Flint’s stomach. He glanced behind the pole where Dutch was and saw some sort of worktable on the far side of the room. Next to the table was a plastic and steel medical
gurney with the usual bioreadout devices that doctors relied on. The gurney had a slotted surface and a drain underneath. The worktable was filled with the contents of a field surgery kit.
“My name is Dr. Horace Greer. I don’t mind telling either of you that because neither of you are going to leave here alive.”
Dutch began to sweat. Flint became the picture of hysteria, his eyes wide, trying to spit threats and swear words past the gag in his mouth.
“My assistants Jebediah and Yi Lin should be here shortly. They help me in our… work.”
He walked past the two of them and out of their range of vision. There was silence. When he walked back a few moments later, he wore the full uniform of a Death Commando… and a heavy rubber apron.
“We are Thugees, you see. As in ancient Terran history. We are the avenging fist of House Liao, the soldiers of Kali Liao, the sons and daughters of Lady Romano, and the protectors of Sun-Tzu. We move and work in shadow. Nothing can stop us. And when we decide it is time for someone to die, no one can save them.”
He paused a moment and studied the reaction of the two bound men.
“Don’t seem so surprised. That is the nature of the mighty Capellan empire. Our forces are everywhere, ready to strike when you least expect it. We brought your precious Fedcom to ruin and civil war.”
They heard footsteps on the stairs.
“That would be my assistants.”
Two people entered the room: one a tall, lanky man wearing the uniform of the Lyran police militia; the other a small-framed Capellan woman with short-cropped hair in civilian mufti. The tall man spoke first.
“Who’re these two, Doc?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t believe they are spies. But that is what we’re going to find out. Either way, they will end up like the others.”
Dr. Greer glanced at them both. “Let’s see. Take… that one first,” he said, pointing at Flint.
Flint’s face became a mask of rage and terror. He began to flail at the bindings, to scream through the gag. The male assistant pinned Flint’s arms behind him while the female undid the hand restraints that kept Flint tied to the pole. Then she re-bound his hands and the pair dragged Flint to the gurney. Flint was kicking wildly now. Jedediah literally pole-dropped Flint like a bag of potatoes onto the gurney; Yi Lin quickly bound him to it. They rolled the gurney to the back of the room where a barely noticeable panel in the wall slid open. A bare room with neoskin taped up to the walls lay beyond the panel.
“Take him inside. I’ll be with you both in a moment.”
The two assistants and the gurney disappeared behind the panel, which slid shut ominously behind them.
Dr. Greer walked over to Dutch, standing a foot from him. He raised his arms as if to wash his hands. With his right hand, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, then rolled up the right sleeve with his left hand.
Each arm was a dull metallic shade from the elbow down. The color seemed to suggest metal, but the texture said it was some kind of biomechanical myomer. Dr. Greer had two cybernetic arms.
“These are a gift of the Federated Suns, my friend. When your great breakthrough, the ‘glorious’ Fedcom linkup of 3030 left the Free Worlds League in shambles, I was trapped on a world behind the lines. I was just a field medic then. Unfortunately, some kind soul piloting a modified Warhammer chose not to respect the Ares Conventions on medical units. When the lines broke, they overran the MASH area. This particular Warhammer was armed with a battery of flame throwers. The plasma flames incinerated most of the wounded and my colleagues. I was ‘lucky;’ I only lost my forearms.
“The economies of the Inner Sphere were smashed by Davion’s war. Crippled veterans received only what the state could afford. I received barely functional plastic replacements for my arms and hands.
“Time and tide turned, as you well know, and by 3057 we began the great crusade against your damnable Fedcom. It was then that the Thugees contacted me as a potential member. I have sworn my fealty to the Liaos ever since.
“The newspapers and the holovids are amusing themselves by calling me a serial killer. Actually, it’s something quite different. We exterminate enemies of the Capellan state. Sometimes we act under orders. Sometimes we act on our own. The Thugees ensured I received more fitting replacements for my forearms. Amusingly, our friends in the NAIS provided the technology in these myomers. I can bend endosteel with these, you know. Or tear a man to pieces. |
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