Fiction: The Evil Possum and the Eurypterids, part 6!

Back with more of the Evil Possum adventure, mostly trying to fill in some material I had cut out before the end. As usual, here's links for the first and previous installments, and while I'm at it the least read one. More to come!

Percy’s precinct headquarters was just south of the arcology complex called Aster Plaza, a pair of 1240 meter buildings shaped like four-pointed stars. The precinct building was a 60-story ring-shaped building that fit the curve of a looping elevated road. It had one section cut out, and a series of protrusions on the outside, making the whole look like both a letter G and a gear. It had many different nicknames, with the most persistent and obscure being the Gizmonic building. Officially, the precinct only occupied the section that filled out the dash part of the G, but the vast majority of the office/ residential complex was part of the Judicial Rehabilitation administration that intertwined with the police. Percy and his partner pulled in at 4 in the afternoon. The rookie with blue hair pulled in beside them on a one-wheeled scooter. “You both did good,” Percy said. “3 domestics, no fatalities. Not bad for your first day.”

The woman just laughed. “I told you, I transferred from Domestic Services,” she said. “We cover twice that any given day, and they don’t even give us non-lethals.”

“Well, I bet you never got thrown out of a 45^th-story window,” Percy said.

“Oh, somebody tried, once,” she said. “When we regular folks hit a window, it usually doesn’t break.”

Percy’s partner, the rodent called Nickolas O’Leary, spoke up.  “Look at this,” he said. He pointed to his wrist organizer. The tiny screen showed a creature that looked like a small, tailless primate, except for the teeth.

“Yes, I come from a continuum placed under quarantine,” the creature said. He glanced again toward an autofabrication kiosk visible behind him. “It is inhabited by several species of genetically engineered rodents and marsupials. My own species is Archididelphis invicta.”

“So, there’s others?” an interviewer asked. “Like you, I mean?”

The creature’s eye looked piercingly into the camera. “No,” he said coldly.

The woman, named Chelsea O’Keefe, eyed Percy. “You know, four or five years back, there was some chatter that a sentient organism escaped quarantine,” she said. “It was right about the time of the big blackout. The way I heard it, whatever it was knocked out the power. Then they said they sent in one cop to catch it…”

“That was caused by human error,” Percy said calmly. “A few creatures escaped while the Quarantine security systems were down. We sent a small team to assist with containment.”

“Really,” Chelsea said. “Were you one of them?”

“Maybe,” Percy said. “I don’t recall. I suppose I might’ve erased that file.”

“I see,” Chelsea said. “And speaking of things you don’t forget…” Percy followed her gaze upward. A winged shape was overhead, at least 7 meters in span.

“Kaan,” Percy said. “He’s out later than usual. He’s supposed to get clearance from Aerial Monitoring. Sometimes he says he forgets. They never do anything.”

“I don’t get it,” Nick said. “I’ve seen him on the news, but what is he? And why don’t we see any others like him?”

“There aren’t any, not for a long, long time,” Percy said. “He’s a teratornid. Immigration found his species 60 years ago. They’ve found a lot of sentient avians, but they were one of the only ones that could still fly, and biggest by far. They’d gotten up to the Transitional-Urban stage, maybe 1500s Old Calendar. Normally, they wouldn’t have been contacted, but they were unusual. From what we know now, the biologists just wanted to look at a live specimen.”

Chelsea nodded. “What did happen?”

“They finally let in a delegation of a dozen, 49 years ago,” Percy said. “He was the leader, as much as they had one. The city didn’t suit them, well, not the others. Some of them got sick, one died. After that, the rest voted to go home. He dissented and stayed behind. Then, he decided to learn about business…”

“So he’s here all alone?” Nick said. “No wife, no friends, no kits?”

“”No,” Chelsea said. “He didn’t have a mate or children when  he came; none of them did. I read a file our Psychosocial department did. Even with all of them averaged together, they got the highest score ever for solitary/ egalitarian tendencies, about as high as anything could score and still be safely studied.”

“That’s right,” Percy said. “It’s just him, and as far as anybody can tell, he doesn’t mind.”

“Um,” Nick said. “The thing is… I think he’s landing.”

At first, it looked like the bird wasn’t going to land. Then there were a few moments when it looked like he couldn’t land. Yet, he came to a stop with just a short jog, barely a meter from Percy’s van. “Greetings, Elevated One,” Percy said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Greetings, Special Inspector,” Kaan said. “And the pleasure is mine.”

* * *

 

Wes and Daisy boarded an express elevator just outside the door to their apartment. Four others rode with them, all clearly visiting from other parts of the city. The glass walls of the elevator and the shaft gave a view of the tower and its surroundings. Daisy spoke to a matronly woman, and casually introduced Wes as her partner. At that, an older man glared at the two of them and muttered something dark. The matron still smiled at them when they got off at the 250^th floor.

It took several transfers to get to their destination, a café called Mile High. They had been there on one of their first dates, and once thereafter. It was apparent at a glance that at least a quarter of the diners were partners assigned to each other by Domestic Services, mostly looking miserably embarrassed. He was ready to retreat when a server appeared. “Mr. Powell and Ms. Mladic,” he said. “Your table is ready.”

Wes and Daisy were seated at what was called a balcony table, really a trapezoidal projection of the spire. There were open balconies on the restaurant’s upper level above, but high winds and further security concerns ensured that they were kept locked except for occasional visits by especially select patrons. The enclosed space was certainly a fair compromise, secluded from the busy restaurant and offering a panoramic view of the city. Wes eyed another couple who seemed to be enjoying themselves. The man looked to be five years younger than the woman, and she looked to be about 3 months with child. He looked back to Daisy, and found her smiling at him.

“You know,” she said, “I was always sure we’d make it if we tried. Weren’t you?”

“Of course,” he said. He resumed examining the menu.

She sighed. “Okay, maybe we need to talk, and I’ll start… What did you really want out of this?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Somebody to talk to, I guess.”

“But you could talk to me. You were talking to me. Did you ever think of asking me out? Before, you know, I took you to the Therapy Room.”

He shuddered at that memory. “Of course, but… I didn’t think you’d feel that way.  I mean… I thought you’d have found somebody else, if you wanted to.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I found other guys,” she said. “Guys who wanted this, but thought I should act grateful because of this and this.” She pointed to her legs, her modest chest and finally her nose.

“Daisy,” Wes said, “why would anyone think that? Why would you think anyone thought that way?”

“You really mean that,” Daisy said. “But they do, and they said so, right to my face!”

She turned sideways, gazing out at the city. After a minute or two of silence, Wes reached out to take her hand. “You know I like you, don’t you?” Daisy said. “It’s stupid but I mean it, I really like you… And we’re two freaks, aren’t we? Must be why our compatibility scored so high.”

“Daisy… Sunshine… I always-” Daisy silenced him with a kiss on the lips.

* * *

It took three more hours for No-Hands to find the last of them, in a restaurant storeroom in the building’s spire. He entered, carrying a scaled Panzerfaust with a tiny flashlight rigged to the sight of the single-use firing tube. The first was a male, clearly killed by another creature of similar size. He counted, “Three…” The next was in enough pieces that the marsupial took a closer look to be sure there was only one. “Two.” Then the light shown between two boxes, and there was a rustle of indolent movement. A closer look showed a creature well over 2 meters long, encrusted with tiny, translucent globes. “ONE!”

Jaeckel and Lorne were prep cooks for Mile High. Their current assignment was wrangling miniature lobsters to their final fate in a pot of boiling water, which in fact consisted mainly of keeping the mouse-sized lobsters from getting away. The settled routine was for one to watch the crate while the other carried a pair to the pot, and then trade places. It was currently Lorne who watched the crate, while Jaeckel carried two of the larger specimens to the pot. Lorne was just getting ready to push a particularly persistent lobster back into the crate when he heard a noise from the storeroom. It was for all the world like a pistol shot. He set down the stick and picked up a medium-sized carving knife, then added a rolling pin for good measure. He approached the door, pausing belatedly to consider how to open it. That became moot the next moment, when a 3 meter eurypterid crashed straight through the door with what appeared to be a tailless possum clinging to its carapace.

Lorne sat up, still dazed. The kitchen was in total disarray, with pieces of the crate scattered everywhere. Of course, the lobsters were already scattering. He saw Jaeckel peer out fearfully from the cover of the stove. 

“I think,” Lorne said, “we need a bigger pot…”