[Fiction] [S. A. N.] My Big Fat Nova Extraction

[Antonius Pelagius]

I get a file in my e-box about a job. It tells me the basics, then autodeletes itself, expecting that I've saved or memorized it. If you want friendly, you go to HR. You want a job, you haul ass over to Requisitions and fill out the forms. They do that at the office, so as to not lose or have the requisition compromised.

I wrangle for the DeVries basics: comm link, maser, flash grenades, fake ID, mox darts, and vehicle credit. I don't rate a flash vehicle, and since this is an extraction, I can't afford the same vehicle. I have to switch, and DeVries will cover that.

It's an extraction. That means that someone needs kidnapping, in this case voluntarily. Research shows it's a nova employed by C-Z. Crap. Mob bullshit, and this guy's their accountant and financial planner. Triple crap. Hopefully, he's local-level and not high up in the game.

Who am I fucking kidding? He's a small fish, which is why they have me doing it. This is my first serious mission; most times I'm a bodyguard for corporate bigwigs and novox celebrities. I'm companionable eye candy that can hold his own. But...maybe this job will change that.

So, I'm at the place where they have this freak stashed. And he is a freak, make no mistake. Remember hearing about "Sloppy Joe?" This dude's prettier, but not by much. His Taint, or whatever the PC term is, is off the frigging charts. He's basically an anatomy lesson: His skin has been replaced with a sort of force field that's unfortunately transparent. And he has a phobia about clothing. And thanks to the force field, he's lost his sense of touch and has some problems balancing. And he doesn't like bright lights, but that's okay, because bright lights don't like him at all.

Good news, Dr. Anatomy Lesson is...quirky, but hyper-smart, and actually fairly interesting to talk to. He actually seemed interested when I told him about how I erupted, and even asked if he could study me at some point. Apparently, a jack-of-all-trades type is a rarity among novas. Anyway, he was all mad scientist, and he made some bad choices about financial backing, and now he wanted to get to a Teragen contact who said they could help him manage his Taint issue. I don't buy that urban legend, but I guess if you're desperate, you do what you got to do.

Now, keep in mind that my extraction was on the down-low. No one was supposed to know I was involved with him being on the run. And that night,something weird happened: no one did.

That explains the horrorshows come crashing through our door. These guys looked like typical q-powered thugs: One legbreaker, and one brains of the outfit. They looked surprised to see me. Too bad for them I couldn't say the same. Not a lick of stealth.

I maser the freaky skinny guy, thinking that if he looks useless, then he absolutely needs to die first. Sure enough, no resistance to a maser; he's relying on Brick Q. Shithouse for any necessary roughness. At the same time, I jacked up my charm.

Musclehead is looking at me, now, and that's his mistake. I eyelock him, and tell him in my sweetest voice, "DORM DOWN." As I figured, he's not stupid enough to forget how to go baseline if he needs to, which helps keep him out of eyewitness lineups. However, he's not smart either, which is why I'm masering him into a fine ash. And gagging on the smell. And triggering the fire alarm, which is why me and Dr. Anatomy are hightailing it down the stairs.

I hide my "client" in a storage closet and grab a manager. My personality is sizzling on all wires as I grab him by the lapels and start screaming at him, telling him my lawyers are going to go after him until he will never get work again unless he cooperates. With his generous assistance, we get three limos out at the front of the hotel, and get six figures under six bedsheets into the back seats, and drive off in separate directions. I keep in contact with the drivers over a three-way link, so I get to hear one of the cars get blown up. Well, fuck, but it's not me or my client.

I get to a safe location, and the driver peels out. I arrange alternate transportation. Dr. Anatomy pulls out of contemplating the mysteries of the universe to let me know I'm doing a good job. But there will be men there by nightfall. Well, if I have to have clients, it's just as well if they're precogs, I guess.

I set the trap on the little driveway. This time, it's apparently just a goon squad scoping the area out. They aren't ready when I crank up my strength and hit their vehicle hard enough to push the engine through the driver's and passenger's chest. The client and I move under cover of darkness, getting to a new rendezvous point, and finally getting some transportation. I found out later that the safehouse got destroyed later.

But, with no sleep and little food, we get on the road and to a hotel which is supposed to be the safe point. It took three days of constant travel, which luckily was low on adrenalin moments. I almost get myself in deep shit when the Teragen collectors show up. Would it fucking kill them to drop the monster act for five fucking minutes? Luckily the skinless brainiac was thinking ahead, and placed himself in front of me, preventing me from drawing and firing. Information is exchanged, payment is arranged, and I'm fucking out of there. Goodbye Dr. Anatomy, and I hope your skin condition stops clearing up.

But the fun isn't done. Over my SECURE com link, I get some obnoxious little adenoidal prick calling me a zip licker, a gutless nova killer, and a Judas to my race. In between this, he's cheerfully letting my know that I've been targeted by another nova who's collecting good C-Z money to kill me and recapture Bones the Brains. Somehow, this nova got misled as to where I was headed, and he was going to be waiting to whack me at the Such-and-Such Motel when I got there.

Shit. If I let this asshole go, he'll come after me, and have the advantage of setting the terms of engagement. I can't let that happen. So, guess where I go? That's right, to an offroad little chain hotel that I can never, ever go back to. Thank whatever god's on watch that I don't live in this country.

I don't even pause. I go charging in. The room's dark, but I can clearly see the carbon-grade garrote and the whipsword lying on the bed. I can hear and smell activity in the bathroom. (I really hate having enhanced senses sometimes.) I'm breaking through the door...and there's this woman, obviously a nova, obviously wearing a eufiber suit done up ninja-style, obviously in the middle of a crisis with her suit seperated enough to let her do her business. She's holding her breath and she's got sad, anime eyes. I swing without even pausing and *BAM!*, she goes out like Elvis. After I pull my arm out of the back wall, I end up puking on her, not meaning to add insult to injury, but that's how the business really works.

Here I find out she's some third-string merc freelancing for the C-Z. Gray Widow, or something. She's another specialist-type nova, famed for planning her hits precisely, then executing too fast for anyone to tag her. Turns out there's a reason why: she doesn't have much in the way of defense except dodging. She was barely above baseline as far as having armor, and she wouldn't wear regular armor, depending entirely on speed. She also didn't have the stomach for the job: Before every hit, she'd get an upset stomach and spend at least half an hour shitting out her digestive tract. That was why she depended on planning and speed. And for all her gymnastics and high-velocity, that MO ended up getting her killed.

In this business, you have to prepare every second for things you just can't prepare for. I'm preparing for just about anything, and enjoying my well-earned break in the meantime. Three novas dead, and a black eye to the C-Z. Not bad for my first real mission.