Wear Iron by Al Ewing

Author:Al Ewing
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

Eight

“THIS IS ALL highly irregular,” murmured Doctor Hoenikker, chief of staff at the Noel Edmonds Institute for the Criminally Insane, as she idly picked the excess varnish from around her fingernails. It wasn’t said with any kind of reproach—just as a simple statement of fact, like it’s a nice day, or I run an asylum, or you’re a bent Judge offering me money, and it’s not enough.

Rico sighed, popped open the pouch on his belt and withdrew another thousand-cred bill. “Final offer, Doc,” he said, trying to keep the edge of irritation out of his voice. Hoenikker was a pain in the ass, and this was costing him two grand more than he’d figured it would, but this was still the cheapest way to get what he wanted in the time available.

“Oh, I think I could go higher. But it’d be a risk.” Hoenikker leaned back in her office chair, looking at him critically, head cocked to one side. “You strike me as rather an unstable young man. I wouldn’t want you to harbour feelings of resentment against me or the facility.”

“You probably wouldn’t at that.” Rico grinned, showing teeth, and handed the money over.

Hoenikker calmly folded it into the inside pocket of her white coat before standing and briskly walking to the door. “Come with me, please. I think the sort of person you’re looking for will be down on sub-level four—the paranoids.”

That sounded about right. Rico smirked and followed along.

One of the very few victories the ACLU had won against the Justice Department was to secure a guarantee from Chief Judge Fargo that those deemed not guilty by reason of insanity would not be placed in the nascent Isolation Cube system. Instead, they were housed in private, non-judicial facilities such as Noel Edmonds.

There was talk, at the Council level, of going back on this pledge—creating a separate stream of ‘psycho-cubes’ to house Mega-City’s growing criminally insane population. Dr Justine Hoenikker, a practical, level-headed woman in her middle fifties who hadn’t survived a nuclear war and risen to the top of her field by being anyone’s fool, knew that the days of the facility—and her own as its head—were numbered.

Thus, she’d begun using her one significant resource to build up a small but healthy retirement fund. Rico was far from her only customer—she’d offered similar deals in the past to Mega-Mob assassination cartels, off-the-books pharmaceutical laboratories, pimps, organ-leggers and a group called the Mega-City Long Pig Appreciation Society.

Dr Hoenikker’s one significant resource was a plentiful supply of human beings.

“Down here,” she said, leading Rico past a corridor of plasti-steel doors with small, reinforced windows. He could hear the sound of shrieking coming from one of them—as they passed it, Hoenikker retrieved a small communicator from her pocket, flipped it on and dialled a three-digit number. “Jeremy?” Her voice was cold. “G/134 hasn’t taken his medication. I’m assuming he hid the pills under his tongue again. You’re supposed to check for that.” On the other end, Jeremy—whoever he was—made his excuses.

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