Murder of Crows (Book One of The Icarus Trilogy) (15 page)

“I might do that sometime,” Jenkins said absent-mindedly.  He couldn’t think of anything he would really want.  The new Crow was as comfortable as he could really be.  They had a library; they had television.  They were just distractions, but Jenkins thought they all needed some distractions now and again.  The three of them ate in relative silence until they noticed Abrams leaving Goldstein’s table with a slight air of disgust.  Roberts gave her a minute to sit down before he left to talk to Goldstein.

“What do you think he needs?” Jenkins asked while looking at his giant friend.  The titan looked back down at him and then turned to the boy soldier, who was talking with the merchant.  The giant sighed and sadness filled his eyes.  He turned his gaze back to his food, which had suddenly become even less appealing, and placed his fork back on his tray.

“Some of us feel a little more pain than others.  Some of us want to escape it more.  That child unfortunately has both problems,” he said before turning back to look at the boy talking to the merchant.  Jenkins looked at Roberts as the realization dawned on him.  He could see that it had all been an act; Roberts just pretended to be tough.  The new Crow shook his head when he thought about how someone so much younger could be addicted to something like that.  He’d seen it before plenty of times in New Chicago, but it seemed so much more cruel when Roberts was already living through Hell.  Jenkins poked his fork at the home fries in front of him and then looked back to his compatriot.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to say something.”  Feldman looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  Jenkins had been quite talkative that day; it was uncharacteristic of the boy.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry I couldn’t help you in that last game.  I felt terrible after you fell into that trap,” he said before grabbing his glass and filling his mouth with orange juice concentrate.  He just wanted to stop himself from talking sometimes.  There was no real way to apologize for his cowardice and he didn’t know why he was compelled to do it anyway.  Feldman chuckled at the remark.  He decided the child by his side was worth investing some effort.

“No need to be sorry, Jenkins,” he said as he stuffed one last sausage into his mouth.  He chewed, swallowed and looked back to his tiny friend.  “No offense, but I didn’t expect it.  I bear my own fate,” he said as he patted the little soldier’s back, picked up his tray and left the table.  Jenkins looked after him and certainly felt offended.  He wanted to be respected.  He could help out on the battlefield; Feldman shouldn’t talk down to him like that.  Then Jenkins realized that the titan was just in a different league.  He was part of the Crows, but only on the scoreboard.  Feldman was by himself out there.  He was always by himself.

-

Goldstein went to the reception area to find the package waiting for him.  The man at the desk told Goldstein that he received a lot of care packages from his Aunt Marie.  The man clearly wanted a bribe, but Goldstein took it as an opportunity to remind the egotistical man the kinds of debts he owed the merchant.  The receptionist shrugged and wondered aloud what would happen if some specific people in management heard about his packages.  Goldstein smiled and reminded the receptionist of the merchant’s friends in McClellan, the nearest support city.  Goldstein picked up his parcel without another word and cursed Hawkins as he left back towards the residential hallways.  The scientist should know to change up the names; Goldstein shouldn’t have to exert his influence over a receptionist.

The merchant made his way back to his room and set the box down on his bed.  He opened it up to find a number of kitschy items; he especially liked the teddy bear at the top.  It was a nice touch, even if he was going to throw all of it away.  He grabbed at the false bottom to find a large amount of prescription painkillers, a case of tampons and assorted items.  The merchant laughed at the comic books that Norris had requested.  They were dirty enough that the computers on the library wouldn’t display them.  Goldstein smiled as he thought about reading them before handing them off to his client.  He grabbed a box of the prescription painkillers and the package of tampons and threw them into his pockets.

He walked by Roberts’ room and placed the pills into the man’s desk drawers.  The man wouldn’t be able to pay until after the next game, but he knew that the soldier was good for it.  He always paid it eventually; Goldstein had no problem giving the man some leeway with his tab.  The pain-addled soldier had tried to plead his case in the cafeteria, but it wouldn’t have mattered.  Goldstein wasn’t going to let him go without the pills.  Deep down Goldstein would have preferred to give them to the boy for free, but as it stood his greed was just a little stronger than his conscience.

The merchant looked around the boy soldier’s room.  No one could know the man was an addict except for some sweaty foreheads and palms; most couldn’t even tell.  When the merchant thought about the torture that boy had to go through, Goldstein had to wonder what kind of hell was in store for Hawkins. 

Goldstein shook his head as he left the room and continued on to Abrams’ quarters.  They had a game later that day, but that was later.  For now he could peddle wares and think about all the money he was making off of his two dozen compatriots.  Even when he died he still had enough money to get out at any time.  He just wanted enough to grab a solid mansion on Solaria.  Then he could send mean messages to his family and show off everything they could never have.

He laughed at their relative misfortune.

Unlike Roberts’ door, Abrams’ was shut firmly. 
 The woman does love her privacy
, Goldstein thought before knocking.  He’d only barged in on Warner’s room once before he rethought his etiquette; the convict had been very involved in his diary and had not appreciated the interruption.  Goldstein’s scars were gone with that body, but he had been ugly for a few weeks and the merchant had no intention to suffer a repeat incident.  He knocked again and heard rustling behind the door.  Goldstein was wondering what she was up to behind that closed door when it suddenly opened and he saw Norris standing there wearing a bemused grin on his face and nothing else.  It fell away as he realized that it was just the merchant in front of him.

“Way to ruin a surprise for me, Goldstein.  I thought you were the girl,” he said before leaning against the door frame.  Goldstein tilted his head and sighed at the Englishman.  He was more annoyed that Abrams wasn’t present.

“I could be, if you bought me flowers, first.”

“Oh, but I never buy flowers, mate.  What you want with my dancing partner?” he asked as he turned back to sit on the soldier’s bed.  The Englishman crossed his legs out of comfort rather than decency.  Goldstein entered the room and closed the door behind him.  He didn’t want any dealings right out in the open.  He reached into his bag and pulled out the tampons.

“A door-to-door salesman, aren’t ya?” Norris asked with a grin.

“You know me, always looking out for the people,” Goldstein said as he placed the box down onto Abrams' desk.

“How much she owe you?” Norris asked out of the side of his mouth.  Goldstein thought about it and decided to make more of a profit.

“Ninety or so, nothing too harsh,” he said without looking the Englishman in the eye.  He didn’t want to betray himself.

“Those little cottony things are worth ninety credits?  Bloody rip-off, that is.  Here,” he said while smiling at his own wordplay.  He leaned down, grabbed at his pants and pulled out his wallet.  He picked out a wad of credits and found he had nothing smaller than a hundred mark.  He held it out with a wary expression.

“I don’t suppose you have any change?”  Goldstein looked at the man and shrugged.  “Figures, you bloody salesman,” Norris said as he gave the mark over to Goldstein.  “Let’s call her debts settled, my friend,” Norris said as he leaned back against the bed.  Goldstein looked over the mark and shrugged.

“Nice doin’ business, Norris,” Goldstein said as he turned to leave.  He was quite happy with how that had turned out.

“Go on; get out before my balls shrivel up.  I was not particularly planning on greeting you naked,” Norris said before winking.  Goldstein laughed at the soldier.  There were plenty of terrible things to say about the man, but he was a character.  Goldstein left towards his room and felt a small pang of conscience.  He had completely forgotten that he was going to tell Norris that his comics would be on the next shipment.  The merchant shrugged as he walked.  Now Goldstein would get to see what was so dirty that the computer terminals wouldn’t show it.

-

 Jenkins didn’t really know how he was supposed to do this.  He awkwardly stood about fifteen meters from the man at the reception area and he tried to work out the conversation in his head.  The man was the only person in the building that wasn’t one of the soldiers or one of the janitorial staff; other wage slaves who never bothered to speak.  To the soldier, the man doing nothing behind the desk was his only connection to the corporation that owned him. 

Jenkins stiffly walked up to the man who looked like he had never done an honest day’s work.  The blonde-haired receptionist was just listening to music and looking at a networking site on his computer monitor.  He didn’t even look up until Jenkins was at the desk.  When he did, the man’s eyes were filled with annoyance more than anything else.

“And what would you like today, Jenkins?” he asked with some venom.  The very idea that he had to work was reprehensible to the man.  This was just an easy job to him where he could do whatever he wanted.  He commuted every day from the support city of McClellan and spent most of his days arguing on the internet or writing his memoirs; even his girlfriend didn’t want to read them.  At least, this was what Jenkins had made up in order to connect with the man.  It made it easier to talk to him if he had a back story.  The receptionist would just be a completely uncaring person who wanted nothing to do with the slave soldier.

“Umm, well, I…uh…”

“Take your time, Jenkins. We have all day,” the man said, making sure the statement was drenched in sarcasm.

“Well,” Jenkins said, trying to take control of his rebellious mouth.  He took a breath and looked the man in the eye.  He then realized he had nothing to fear from the man.  Jenkins was a soldier who had already experienced death; the man at the desk was just a small obstacle.  “I’d like to have my balance sheet to see how much money I’m making.”  The man at the desk couldn’t stop the laugh escaping from his throat.  He no longer had his dour disposition and started shaking his head as he clicked through a few menus on the display in front of him.  When the printer nearby spit out a piece of paper the receptionist didn’t even bother to read it; he just handed it to the soldier.

“Here’s how much money you’re making, big man,” the receptionist said with a smile.  Jenkins looked at the man suspiciously before checking out his balance sheet.  It was like he’d been hit by a transport.  He’d been through five games and been paid well for them, but the two deaths and resurrections were taken right out of his account.  The fees were atrocious and put the soldier far past the red.  In order to break even he would have to survive through fourteen more games. 

It was more than just unlikely.

The young Crow remembered Warner’s outburst after that first game; he remembered how the man had roared and screamed at his lost chance at freedom.  Jenkins looked down at the sheet again, willing it to be different.  He wanted the ink to rearrange itself and tell him a happy story, but that wasn’t going to happen.   The young Crow looked at the page three times before he realized that there was a mistake; he’d only died in two games but he had been charged for three resurrections.  He felt relief as he realized that if he got that death taken care of that he might not have to work as hard to live through the next few matches.  He turned back to the man at the desk and pointed at the three resurrection charges.

“This is wrong.  I’ve only died twice.  I shouldn’t be charged for this,” the man looked up at him without moving his head.  He was more than just annoyed by the soldier.  The blonde man sighed and looked back down at his computer screen.

“You’ve died three times.  That’s what it says.”

“Yeah, well I’m saying there’s been a mistake.  I’ve only died twice.  I remember it.  
Vividly
,” Jenkins insisted.  He wasn’t going to have a reception monkey throw him to the wolves just because he wanted to be lazy.  The man looked back up at him and sat back in his chair.

“The system says you’ve died three times.  That means you have died three times.  Even if I believed you, which I don’t, by the way; even if I believed you I can’t do anything about it.  You would have to talk to one of the accountants,” the man said with disdain in his voice.  It wasn’t his problem if the soldier was overcharged.  Jenkins’ eyes narrowed.

“Well, can you get in me in touch with one of them?”  The man just looked at his fingernails and didn’t respond for a few seconds.  He didn’t even look at Jenkins as he sighed and replied with no enthusiasm.

“I would have to have a good reason to take up their time.”  Jenkins was starting to get angry at the man.

“I think
this
counts.  It sounds like an accounting problem to me,” he said.  He was getting rather annoyed himself.

“Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t.  They’ve charged you for three deaths.  In your contract it says you hold ultimate accountability.  Every time you die they charge you for resurrection.  If they’ve charged you three times, it’s because you’ve died three times.  Their system is perfect,” he said, grooming his nails the entire time.  Jenkins thought about what he would have done if this man had acted this way back in New Chicago.  He thought about how the man would look without teeth.

“You realize I’ve been trained to kill people for a living, right?”  He couldn’t resist from implying a threat to the man.  If it affected the man it did not show; the receptionist didn’t even shrug.

“Goodbye, Jenkins.”  He wasn’t going to entertain the soldier anymore.  He’d done his job, what little of it there truly was.  Jenkins stood there for a moment fantasizing about ripping the man apart, but he realized that he was better than that.  The new soldier didn’t need to kill an annoying receptionist.  He turned and walked down the hallway back to the barracks.