The Saffron Malformation (8 page)

             
“More?” the bot asked, indicating his glass and Quey shook him off as he loaded the sides onto the patty and closed the bun.  Quey took a bite and groaned satisfaction.  The meat, the bun, the veggies, they were all perfect and flavorful.

             
“Is it to your liking?” Barbot asked him and Quey nodded.

             
“This is the best fucking burger I’ve ever had.  Where the hell did you get this stuff?”

             
The bot took a moment to answer, “Kitchen.”

             
“Yeah, but the ingredients, where did they come from.  I haven’t had anything this good since I was a kid.”

             
Something inside the bot clicked and whirred as it thought before answering.  “Food distribution unit.”

             
“Fuck it,” he said past a mouth full of food and yelled, “Ryla.”

             
“Speak,” she answered coldly through the bot’s speaker.

             
“Where did you get these tomatoes?”

             
“That query is irrelevant to your purpose here.”  The speaker cracked again.  Ryla had hung up on him.

             
“I just was curious.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen vegetables this… I don’t know… good.”  Chewing, Quey looked up at Barbot and said, “You know, the lady of the house can be a bit of a strange one.”

             
Barbot did not respond.

Plots and Lies

Sticklan Stone walked into the office, one of many rooms in Richter Crow’s estate, and sat down on a comfortable chair across from a heavy dark wood desk.  The outer wall was a floor to celing window that tinted based on the intensity of the sun.  It overlooked the massive expanse of land behind the Crow estate; well-manicured flower gardens and shrubs enclosed by a massive stone
wall.

Richter gave him the, ‘be with you in a minute,’ sign from the other side of the desk where he was talking to someone through a monitor and camera over the Universal Network.  It was a shaky bit of tech at best that sent messages between planets and was responsible for updating the Planetary Networks every few months.  Richter was in conference with a bigwig back at Blue Moon, they spoke of money and industry and things that bored Sticklan, but as the conversation moved away from commerce he grew intrigued.

              “Well that brings us to what I wanted to talk to you about most.  I’m afraid the situation here is dire,” Richter Crow said.

             
Sticklan scanned the shelves of books running floor to ceiling along the wall to his right and wondered how many of them his new acquaintance had actually read.  More than was expected but less than he claimed was his guess.

             
“Explain,” the man on the other end of the transmission told him.

             
Richter sighed and ran a hand down the side of his face.  “It seems some members of Anti-corp got through our screening process.  They’re on planet and active.”

             
“Are you sure?” the man on the other end asked, stern.

             
“We’ve had a number of attacks and,” Richter let his voice trail off.  First rule of fishing for suckers was to let them reel themselves in.

             
“And?”

             
“We’ve got reports that they may have planetary devastators.”

             
“Fuckin’ shit,” the man on the other end of the transmission said, exasperated.

             
“Things seem to be under control for now but you know how these rats work, underground and off the grid.”

             
“Yes, we know.  I have to warn you that we can’t afford an aid mission.  Profits from the new worlds won’t begin to show for two years.  If you can’t get a handle on this yourself-”

             
“This is not a call for aid sir,” Richter Crow interrupted.  “I feel confident this situation will be resolved on our end.  It may take some time, but...”

             
“Don’t bother with the explanation you’re just going to have to make excuses about later.  We understand how these things work.  What was it you wanted from us then?”

             
“Oh yes, what I was hoping to get from you is a red flag.”  There was a pause while the man on the other end contemplated the request.  “Please sir, if a transport were to come to the planet these terrorists will look to get hold of it, and if they do have devastators…”

             
“Right, right,” the man on the other end agreed.  A moment passed and then he asked, “How’s everything else down there?”

             
“Aside from this small group of vermin, we’re spectacular.”

             
“The terraform’s alright?” the man sounded concerned.  “We’ve gotten word from two other worlds that their ‘form has been having issues.”

             
Richter shook his head.  “Everything’s peaches and cream here, aside from Anti-corps that is.”

             
Sticklan knew the man on the other end of the line was nodding.  Then he spoke.  “Well if anything comes up, let us know.  We have some means of dealing with the instability in the ‘forming.  Anything like that happens we’ll have to risk an aid ship.  Saffron can’t turn a profit if it dies.”

             
“If my scientists come back with anything I’ll let you know.”

             
“Good.  Well it seems like you’ve got everything in hand down there.  I’ll red flag you for the time being, if you think that’s best.”

             
“I do.”

             
“You just let us know when the situation passes and we can get you back on green grid.”

             
“Will do.”

             
The men exchanged farewells and Richter turned his screen and camera off.  He sat back in his chair and sighed.

             
“You need me?” Sticklan asked.

             
Richter looked at the man for a long moment, sizing him up.  He still wasn’t sure about Mr. Stone, if he could be trusted or, more importantly, controlled.  There wasn’t much choice though.  He had to keep things together for another ten to fifteen years at least.  Crow stood and crossed to the windows where he stood looking out at the cliffs and ocean below.  “You know why you’re here?” he asked.

Sticklan looked at him.  “Because you need people killed.”

Richter Crow shook his head.  “No, mister Stone.  I have men who kill.  Trouble is they have lines.”  He turned to face Sticklan.  “Things they won’t do, things they can’t do.  I understand their quandary.  Hell I can’t do them myself, and that’s why you’re here.  See, the people I need to get to, I can’t just kill.  They’re important.”

Sticklan watched him and saw his pathetic nature bleeding out around the edges.  He was a scared little man running from his troubles by placing them in someone else’s hands.

              “I need them to see reason but I can’t force them to, neither can any of my men.  But you,” he said stepping forward and sitting on the corner of the desk.  “A man like you might be able to get through to them.  See, these are people.  People with families.”

             
“You want me to kill their families.”

             
Crow shook his head.  “That’s no good, if it were that easy I’d do it myself.  A bomb from a thousand miles, even if I knew it was going to blow up a bus full of kids, I could push that button.  No, killing a man’s family is handing him a reason to hate you.  I need you to get close.  Find out what buttons to push.  How much do you have to hurt their families for them to finally see the only way out is with us?  As part of the Blue Moon family.”

             
Sticklan nodded once.

             
“Up close and personal, that’s the trouble.  My men can’t do it.  They can’t cut on a woman, not to mention a kid.”  Richter Crow stood and paced a bit, then spun and pointed at Sticklan as he said, “But you.  Someone like you.  Probably might even get a kick out of it.”

             
Sticklan smiled.  He didn’t like Richter Crow, might even decide to kill him some day, after the rest of his family of course, but at the moment he was the C.E.O. of Saffron and he was offering free reign to do what pleased him most.  “I think I can help you.”

             
Richter Crow nodded.  “Then I have your first assignment,” he said lifting a sheet computer off the desk and handing it to Sticklan.  Sticklan looked at the list of names.  He touched the first one, Andy Froth, and it brought up a file on the man.

             
“These aren’t Anti-corps members,” Sticklan said with a smirk.

             
“What?” Richter began perplexed, then laughed a bit and added, “No.  No, there’s no Anti-corps on Saffron.”

             
Sticklan nodded.  “That business on South continent?”

             
“A brewing storm brought on by men such as those,” he answered pointing to the sheet in Sticklan’s hand.  “I want you to know that as an employee you’ll be well taken care of, got you a car out front and a house down the hill.  And you will make it off this rock when the time comes.”

             
Sticklan looked up at him puzzled, then nodded.  “The wastes.”

             
“Heard about them huh?”

             
“Any who haven’t?”

             
“Well thing about that is-”

             
“Thing about that is I don’t care.”  The men met eyes for a moment and Richter looked away.  “You went through a load of trouble to keep me secret and get me out.  Spent a barrel of dough and lied to corporate about how the world’s settling, so I have to think you have a ripe bit of profit coming somewhere down the line.”  He looked back down at the sheet.  “I’m here to handle an issue you have.  These men are scientists, people who might let the world or even the universe know what’s what down here on this dying rock.  I’m here instead of dead because you need a man who’s not squeamish about women and kids.  Anything else doesn’t have shit to do with me.”

             
Richter nodded.  “Fair enough.”

             
Sticklan looked through the files.  There were names, pictures, and addresses.  “Ya made this cake.  Won’t even have to look with my eyes open to find ‘em.  How detailed do you want the report?”

             
Richter shook his head.  “Just success or not.”

             
Sticklan smiled.  “Sure you don’t want video?”

             
Richter shook his head.

             
“What if they hold out anyway?”

             
Richter looked at him.

             
“I mean, I’ve seen ‘em.  Men whose principals are stronger than any emotion another might have.”  Sticklan chuckled, “I once had a man hold out for three days.  Man watched me-”

             
Richter Crow raised his hand.  “Thing about that is, I don’t need to know.”

             
Sticklan nodded.  “But the question remains, what do you want done should someone turn hardheaded?”

             
“If you can’t turn them then kill them.  But only if you can’t turn them.  You come back with a pile of corpses and a story about how they were all impossible-”

             
“That happens and it means your little pill isn’t working too well, and I suggest you move.”

             
Richter’s eyes widened.  He stood tall and barked at the man, “Get this straight, you ever threaten me again-”

             
“Back at you.”  They locked eyes and Richter felt his heart race.  For once he wasn’t the man in control.  Sticklan spoke first.  “I gave my word, and what you offered was fair.  Your pill works, there won’t be a problem.”

             
Richter nodded and swallowed hard.  “Took it today?”  His voice was vacant.

             
“With my tea and muffin.”  Sticklan stood and started for the door.  He was almost there when he stopped and turned.  “Oh, and get some Earl Grey for crying out loud,” he said before heading out.

             
Sticklan loaded his gear into the trunk of his new car and drove toward his first destination.  He was agitated and looking forward to hurting people but he didn’t feel a need to do it.  If he had, it was likely Richter Crow and his family would be weeping and begging right now, so maybe the pill was working.  Still, he’d keep an eye out for a time when Richter wasn’t useful any longer.  Hurting men was most fun when no one’s ever stood up to them before.  Then they can’t believe what’s happening.  How can he have me tied up?  How could he be cutting little pieces off of me, doesn’t he know who I am?

             
Sticklan laughed as he drove.

             
He liked the idea of leaving Butcher Baker behind.  He felt he’d done all he could as that person, and he understood why Richter Crow didn’t want it.  He couldn’t have a man in his company named Mr. Baker, but Crow had overestimated the level of control his little pill gave him over Sticklan.  He may have been done with the name Butcher Baker, but that didn’t mean he was ready to sit docile in the corner like a good dog until his master told him otherwise.

             
Of course there was the issue of the fact that the name Butcher Baker would strike fear, whereas no one’s ever heard of Sticklan Stone before.  There had to be an example of his work.  He smiled.  Richter wanted to keep him in the corner, as an idle threat to any who would oppose him.  After this he was going to have to lurk in the shadows, as a rumor like a boogeyman.

             
Andy Froth and his wife Jenna lived in a nice middleclass house in a suburban neighborhood.  Their community was gated and had a clubhouse and was protected by one of the city’s many rain catchers.  He looked forward to barbeques on the pool deck and playing tennis with his friend Tozy.  Jenna talked about how she planned on using the gym to lose the baby weight, though she knew she was never fitting into the red dress again.