Rogue by D.J. Gelner

Author:D.J. Gelner [Gelner, D.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: omnibus, cormac mccarthy, wool, hugh howey, science fiction best sellers, shift, apocalyptic, mike smith, post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, melancholia, dystopia, wool omnibus, rogue planet, high-tech, apocalypse, kindle sci-fi best sellers
Publisher: Orion's Comet
Published: 2013-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

Nine

July 21, 2066

T-Minus 9 hours, 8 minutes

Joe did his best to hide his limp as he staggered down the hallway, sticking to the brushed metal walls as best as he could to evade any wandering eyes. Curfew had been pushed back until 1 a.m., a mere eight minutes away. And though Joe was making good time, he worried that whomever Meyer sent wouldn’t make it.

As he passed each doorway, Wyatt’s screams and pleas for mercy tore through Joe’s head. Did Wyatt know that he had his ticket punched? That he was on the second List? Was that part of the deal with Smitts? And if so, why should Joe trust Smitts when he simply hung Wyatt out to dry like unspun laundry when the man had disappointed him?

The stinger stick swung against Joe’s thigh, still warm from use. He shuddered; whenever his eyelids shut, he was back Wyatt’s apartment, bringing the damned awful device down on his friend, watching as Wyatt sizzled and seized, not relenting until he was sure he had passed out.

There had to have been another way, Joe thought.

He knew there wasn’t; what else could he have done? Wyatt got the jump on him. Bit him. Left him no choice.

You didn’t have to be so cruel!

“How the hell not!?” Joe hissed. He wiped his face as he cursed himself; even if he was tired, it was careless to say anything so close to curfew. If Smitts did deliver, he wanted to make sure that Mason’s ticket wasn’t forfeited.

He rounded the right-hand curve of the hallway, the final stretch before their apartment, and noticed once more that the gleaming, polished windows and railings had already lost their luster, and were beginning to film over and dull.

If it’s like this already, and Minerva hasn’t even lifted off, what’ll it be like tomorrow once it’s gone? Joe thought.

A few short days before, he would have shuddered at the thought. Now, though, he welcomed whatever punishment this place thought it proper to bestow upon him. After all, wasn’t that what he signed up for when he decided to go into business with Meyer Smitts?

The freshly-dilapidated hallway straightened, and Joe found his answer.

Dr. Figgenbaum herself stood in his doorway, dressed in standard maintenance crew coveralls with the saccharinely-hopeful “SSC” logo stenciled on the front, along with a name in tiny white print.

“Doctor…Winters, I presume?” Joe deadpanned, surveying the name on her chest.

Rancid breath leaked through unbrushed teeth as Figgenbaum unleashed a soft cackle.

“Meyer said you’d be a good sport about all of this. Makes me feel like a bit of a spy, traipsing around under cover of darkness, conducting,” she brought her hand up to shield her mouth, “illicit business in plain sight. What a thrill!”

Unfortunately, her hand only had the effect of guiding her foul-smelling breath toward Joe’s face.

He endured it, grimly.

“Do you have the sample?” she asked.

Joe reached in his pocket, into the spot formerly occupied by his Rose Bowl ring, and pulled out the vial of dark, cloudy liquid.

“Excellent!” Figgenbaum clasped her hands together with glee.

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