Even Tyrants Get The Blues: Five Tales of a Darkly Imagined Future by Valerie Emerson

Author:Valerie Emerson [Emerson, Valerie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emberlight Press

An hour later, Merle closed up the medical transport bag and stuffed it into his backpack. It was coated in blood, as were his hands and his chassis. He was pretty sure he’d gotten the liver out, according to his Company search algorithm, but he’d gotten a few other organs too, just in case. The Company might end up with a spleen and kidney, just as a bonus.

The body lay on the floor with its arms spread, as if asking to be picked up. Its torso was sliced open from crotch to throat, and the organs remaining were a bit mangled. The worst thing was the smell. He’d punctured the intestines at some point, and the sewage smell had filled the apartment. It was the sort of horrible smell he was certain would cling to him if he didn’t wash it off immediately.

He went into the bathroom cubicle. It was barely large enough to hold him, and the cheap tile threatened to crack under his weight. He turned on the water, letting it sluice off the blood.

He watched it swirl down the drain, then stepped out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints behind. He didn’t bother drying off. He could air dry, and it would feel weird to use the dead man’s towels.

He picked up the backpack and slung it over his shoulders, then looked around one last time. Other than the body and the cot, the room was bare. It would be easy to clean, easy to find someone to fill the space. There weren’t enough apartments to go around and he’d just created an opening. Maybe the woman in the stairwell would take it, so she could die in relative comfort.

Merle went out into the hall and down the stairs. The stairs were empty now. The woman was gone, and the lobby was empty when he passed through it. Too bad. He was feeling merciful, he might have put the woman out of her misery on his way out.

He turned left out of the building and continued through the dark, feeling more relaxed now that the job was done. Soon he’d drop the organs off at the extraction suite, and get paid, and then he could eat something.

Then he’d do the next job, and the next, until maybe he could afford new pistons for his legs. If he calculated right, he only needed to do four more pickups before he’d be able to get a used set. Eight more jobs before he could get new.

It was tempting to get the used set. He needed to replace his pistons, the sooner the better. But if he waited to get new, they’d last longer, maybe for the life of his legs. That was worth waiting for.

He didn’t see the gang closing in until they were on top of him. They wielded crowbars and pipes, wooden boards with nails sticking through them. They bounced off his chassis, but the spikes and nails sank into the flesh of his arms, drawing blood and bruising muscle.

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