Moon Cops on the Moon by C. T. Phipps

Author:C. T. Phipps [Phipps, C. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, humor
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2023-07-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The Femme Fatale at My Doorstep

* * *

I was on a metal surgical table. A bright light was shining in my face as I had a new pair of cybernetic eyes, taking in my surroundings with digital accuracy. Two surgeons were operating on me with equipment I did not recognize. I could not scream because I had no mouth. My lower jaw had been removed and they were performing their operations without anesthetic.

I didn’t know if they knew I was awake or if they just didn’t care. Mind you, I didn’t have much in the way of nerves anymore either, and everything I felt was distant, as if I was a spirit hovering over my own body.

“I can’t believe we’re trying to save this loser,” one of the surgeons said. “He’s not even got actual combat time as a Marine.”

“He tore through an entire unit of enhanced as well as the local hoodlums,” the second surgeon said. “Blackwood doesn’t make mistakes.”

“He was brain dead when we brought him,” the first said. “Is this even worthwhile?”

“It’s alright,” the second surgeon said. “They’ve been recording his memories for the past year. He may even be improved once we upload them to his new processor.”

“And we’re going to release this one into the wild unlike the others?” the first surgeon said.

“That’s what they tell me,” the second surgeon said. “The other posthumans are all dedicated psychopaths. The bosses want to know if they can have one that can pass itself as a normal citizen.”

“I thought the point was that they weren’t normal,” the first surgeon said.

“I just work here,” the second surgeon said. “Anyway, the leg is a complete loss. The rest we can cover up our modifications for.”

“What should he look like?” the first surgeon asked.

“Himself, dipshit,” the second surgeon said. “Except better looking. We still have to sell this to our bosses, and no one pays for ugly people.”

“Right,” the first surgeon said, bringing down a kind of powered drill from above. “Be glad you’re not going to remember this, cop.”

I woke up with a start in the chair of my apartment’s desk, in front of the infopad that was full of holograms detailing the Posthuman Legion’s crimes. The deranged manifesto of the Blood Eagle was in text form after I got sick of trying to watch the masked digitally obscured figure give his preprepared speeches about its principles. Barksley was sleeping over at Lucy’s place tonight and I had the apartment to myself as rain was pouring out over the windows.

Crater Town was large enough to have its own microclimate and the rain systems were a vital part of keeping disease and contamination in check. The water outside was filled with chemicals designed to kill anything that might turn the Moon’s slums into plague vectors. It was a brute force solution to a public sanitation problem that was of questionable usefulness when supposedly too much exposure led to emotional instability and violent behavior. Then again, maybe that was like

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