Hedon by Jason Werbeloff

Author:Jason Werbeloff [Werbeloff, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781506175140
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 24382161
Publisher: Jason Werbeloff
Published: 2015-02-08T05:00:00+00:00

The Tax Man holstered his gun as he regarded the empty apartment. It was full, but not of life. He saw the legs and torso of a body behind the bed, with a mess of kitchen tools and utensils strewn through the apartment, many of them broken.

He took a step forward, and the stench of feces and garlic hit him between his eyes. He removed a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, and placed it over his nose.

It was Gemini. He recognised the body’s features. But the last week had not been kind to him. His cheeks were sunken, and he’d lost at least 10 pounds, maybe more. And he didn’t think that weight-loss could be blamed on the black, stodgy pool of blood on the floor around his head. He raised Gemini’s hand to examine the wrist, and sure enough, there was a stamp.

“THE CLUB,” it said, in blue lettering.

So, what was Gemini doing here? And who had killed him?

He inserted a thermometer spike in the body’s liver, and got the temperature. Put the time of death at about 10 hours ago. Late last night.

He took out his flashlight, and examined Gemini’s milky eyes. They stared back at him, silver and unmoving. Petechial hemorrhaging. He was asphyxiated. He rolled the body, and examined the hedometer. Too late. The brain had died long enough ago that the memories were irretrievable. But the hedometer stored its last reading.

Kwan-yin!

The Tax Man checked the reading to be sure. “18,398” hedons, the screen flashed. The altruism credits were close to zero. Poor bugger. He was a dead man anyway with that differential. The Tax Man would have put a bullet in him himself. He sighed. Someone had probably killed Gemini to steal his hedons. But then why hadn’t they removed the hedometer? Maybe they had been interrupted? He didn’t know, but he’d have to investigate, what with his supervisor breathing down his neck. It may have nothing to do with the wife, but THE CLUB was the only lead he had on her.

THE CLUB appeared in memories he’d repossessed from a pedi he’d been called to with the paramedics. The cretin had been bedraggled, his clothes torn and soiled, likely from before the accident. “Experience Addict,” Donys had said immediately. “We see plenty,” Florence had explained to The Tax Man. “They don’t look where they’re going. Walk around in a daze. And boom!” She smashed her hands together.

The Tax Man had never repossessed an Experience Addict before, so he didn’t hesitate to euthanize the gaunt man as soon as Donys had placed him, stable, in the back of the ambulance. Donys had only sighed, while The Tax Man took in the memories. And what memories! This Addict had a yen for space walks and Martian colony-visitations. He understood now why they became Addicts. The ecstasy the man Experienced when he stood on the Martian sand was unadulterated. He felt every grain of rock under his boots, while he listened to the Martian wind pass across his visor.

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