Tales from the Hound - Reminiscence

September 2067. Veckert reflects on her past, while laying down on the roof of a tall building and gazing at the stars in a quiet summer night.

I still find the night sky amazing, even after so many years. Being able to see the stars, to gauge the immensity of space, look through aeons of dead light that crossed time and space just to crash land on my retinas… feels special, somehow. Yes, gazing at the stars, watching them from the roof of the building where I live, is something I’ll never get accustomed to completely. The moon, though… the moon still scares me a little. Like a queen in a sea of sparks, she stands up in that velvet blue mantle, as the empress of an uncountable court. Every time her gaze indulges on me, I feel equally graced and wary of such a courtesy. To think I’d never met her inquisitive eyes till I turned twenty-six. Yeah, that’s a date to remember – April twenty-third, two thousand sixty two, three seventeen AM. That was the day, the hour, the minute. I feel like I’m there again, aiming my gun at the techies in the SHIELD control center, forcing them to pull the lever, while Joseph’s last toy was wrecking havoc in District One. My heart was going insane, beating like an army of drummers bashing leather with metal, waiting for the moment I’ve longed for for my entire life.

Getting something else instead, at first.

The noise.

The noise of the titanic engines of the dome, the engines that had never been activated since its first closure, engines now roaring and complaining because they had been finally set in motion. Still, that was enough. It was enough to make me look up, stare at the endless black brother that enveloped us, a brother that cracked under the weight of its age, scarred by phage attacks and drone fire, but always standing, never giving up. Our last bastion of hope, the hope that kept St. Patrick together.

The SHIELD.

Our SHIELD.

What did the citizens think of, when they heard its thunderous voice, when they saw it splitting?What did their eyes look like, when rain fell inside St. Patrick, for the first time in almost fifty years? Were they as scared, as excited as I was? Who knows, maybe, one day, someone will film a documentary about it, about that historical event, asking people who were there for their reactions. On my side, when I first felt the rain, when I first set my eyes on the night sky, my heart throbbed, jumped inside my chest.

“My God, it’s full of stars!”

It’s a cheesy line from a classic movie that must be almost a century old at this point, but I can’t help it, it fits so well.

“My God, it’s full of stars!”

Imagine having lived under a dome since you were born, without ever seeing the outside world ‘cause you were told there was no outside world at all. Imagine finding out that was a lie well in your adult age and that you were just a prisoner of a convenient cage, so that the rest of Ireland could thrive. I would have loved to set the world on fire, after that revelation. Yet, the stars, the rain… they sated my hunger. I got my freedom. We got our freedom, by our own hands. The bastards that kept us walled are still out there, but the time for a payback will come, sooner or later. On my side, I’m not sure I have what it takes to fight the system any longer. I’m tired and, somehow, working within the system to keep ROPES under control. As long as St. Patrick thrives and its citizens are safe, I’m happy. We should have rioted, demanded reparations for the lies we lived in, for all that came with the truth, but… it was too much to take in. The sky, the moon, the rain, the stars, the truth about tryadine, about our altered genetic makeup, about the goddamn phages.

While I gaze at the endless velvet up above, my thoughts mingle and dance, mixing up again and again in a loop. I’m feeling at peace, lying on this cot of mine, on the roof of this old building in the middle of New Langdon.

“Oi, want another beer?”

A voice calls me back to the ground, a voice of someone I’d never think I could call “a friend” and yet has become one. I hold out my hand in her direction, open it up.

“Without alcohol, please.”

I’m welcomed by a chuckle, as my fingers wrap around the cold tin of the can. I sigh as an answer, staring at her in turn.

“What’s funny about it?”

“Oi, Veck, don’t take it badly, but that without alcohol in your chainsmoker voice was priceless. Like a gangster asking for milk at a pub.”

I grin at her, as my fingers tap lightly on the scars on my throat, on my cheek. Guess what, I had a very melodic and pleasant voice for at least three years, before I got into an accident again. Which is as annoying as you might think, especially after the other major accident that gave me my nickname. Imagine having your whole face shot off by a rogue robot. Then, imagine wearing a surgical mask for five years straight, as little nanomachines reconstruct your features and your vocal cords. Now, imagine finally having a fresh, new visage and going back to speaking with your original voice, instead of some rough text-to-speech engine… only for a masked bastard with a thing for flowers to almost send you to heaven denied by slashing your throat open. That hurt and damaged my vocal cords one more time – why, yes, thanks, Baal. I know, I know I could have had them reconstructed, but… the thought of having to wear a mask again scared me. I’ve decided to live with these new scars of mine, with my oddly gruff voice, even if today’s medical tech (especially on this side of the SHIELD) is way better than it used to be. Sure, it’s not the best voice in the world and I miss my old one, but it’s leagues better than an impersonal speech synthesizer.

I open the can, sip a little beer. The temperatures are surprisingly nice, September is being merciful for once. Lying down in jumpsuit long pants and a t-shirt sure feels comfortable, even if my hair gets in the way. Maybe I should cut it at some point, but I like it as it is – long enough to reach my knees, when I stand up.

“You know, Veck, it’s pretty cool here. Like, I wasn’t expecting you to be into stargazing.”

“Life’s full of surprises.”

Surprises, yes. I’ve been discovering new parts of myself every now and then. Turns out, thirty is where life begins despite my initially gloomy reaction to seeing my first white strands tainting my azure mane. I hate that I thought I was getting old. If anything, I’ve reached that point where I feel like my experience counts for something.

Before I take yet another sip, I meet Chai’s gaze, her inquisitive shining eyes, with strange, ever-shifting little patterns on her irises. Those are one of a kind, I can’t remember of having ever seen another person with eyes like hers. The doctors who cured her blindness sure made a good job keeping her unique. Yeah, she wasn’t able to see the world around her until sooner this year, which makes us… eerily similar, while not for the same reason. So, I need to ask her, it’s something I need to know.

“What did you think, when you saw the sun for the first time?”

I notice her grabbing a can of cold tea (tea? Really? Who’s the puppy now?) before staring back at me, playing with her hair while taking some time to put together an answer.

“Oi, it’s kinda complicated. I wasn’t completely blind from birth, I’ve seen my fair share of day skies ‘fore my eyes went out cold, so I’ve taken it for granted, yes? No real reaction, more like here comes that shiny motherfucker again, missed me, you dolt? – or something to that effect. You?”

“I thought it was proof God existed… and I’ve cried like a baby at my first dawn.”

“Never watched a documentary, under the dome?”

“Watching a fifty years old tape and seeing the real deal are two very different beasts.”

“Fair.”

As she says that, Chai fiddles with her peace locket, that rusty memento of her adoptive father. I’ve never seen her without it, not even during the most – let’s say – memorable moments of her streams. Once she almost headbutted a guy who tried to take it off and almost – almost – ripped his dick off with her teeth, live in front of all her fans. That caused the chat to go ham. Blindseraphim’s medallion is sacred, it’s an integral part of her. Nobody is allowed to touch it without her approval. Thus, most of the viewers were cheering for her and calling for that guy to have his manhood evicted. I… was part of that crowd, on my burner account. I’d like to say I’m not one for erostreams, but lacking body warmth for too long does this to a bitch. It was before I got to know her in person, of course – no way I can watch her on Booner again with the same eyes, now that I hang out with her semi-regularly. She’s like a little sister, at this point – of the annoying kind that still manages to make you smile and is more mature than her biological age. Still, Chai without that locket would feel like… not Chai, if it makes sense. While I’m lost in thought, gazing at the hypnotic swings of her medallion, I notice her finger rising up, pointing at something up there.

“Ain’t it funny that ancient people saw figures among them stars? Like, they didn’t know that it’s all parallax, that it’s just a question of perspective. If I wanted, I could draw a dildo by joining random dots and call it a day. Ya think shoigas did that too? I mean, the whole constellation thing-y? I wonder how did the sky look like, from their home planet.”

I look up too, at the now familiar shapes of the Big and Small Dipper. What was the sky like, on their far, lost planet? Did they have documents and pictures of it? I should ask Voss, he’s the only shoiga I’m on speaking terms with. I guess Chai has another option, though. An option that makes my skin crawl and my eyes roll, but still an option.

“Ask the phagefucker and her lizard boyfriend. I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you.”

I hear her chuckle again, without taking her eyes off the sky.

“Oi, you still holdin’ a grudge?”

“I’ve killed phages for ten years, lost colleagues to them too. You can’t expect me to get along with someone who got boned by one of them willingly.”

“Even after her report on the blood flowers?”

“Especially after her report on the blood flowers. I mean, how can that klutz be so intelligent, smart, hard-working and sensitive and still decide that fucking a goddamn haemophage is fine? I’ll never understand her.”

No, I’ll never manage to. That’s a given. I was in that warehouse, five years ago, surrounded by screams and entrails, while my men fell like flies. Mangled, crippled, chewed by starved noctis, noctis that someone released inside the ventilation ducts after keeping them without food for three days. Of course those monsters were desperate, of course they saw us all just as walking snacks. But I can’t forgive them. I can’t forget. The only good haemo is a dead haemo, this is a hill I will die on… though I have to tread lightly around Chai, ‘cause totally-my-type-but-taken Lejl keeps one as a pet. A deglanded, neutered, domesticated phage, but still a phage. I swear, I kept quiet just because I didn’t want to ruin her tearful confession to her girlfriend, that whole stuff about being a Dreamer, but the urge to shoot that bastard was hard to contain. My reward had been worth it, though – being put on fast lane to meet Blindseraphim in person. That said, it felt weird to have the chance to speak with someone I only saw from the other side of a screen while performing unspeakable acts. I mean, you can’t go to a porn star and casually tell her “I loved your how many gals can I bang at the same time? stream!” when you meet her for the first time, that would be awkward as heck. Which is why I’m grateful our first close encounter went in a totally different, unexpected direction – courtesy of a certain mutual acquaintance.

I was minding my business at that café ran by Jackson, that weird man with no face freshly married with totally-my-type-but-straight-and-taken Kia Takara, gulping down a cappuccino after a very busy evening at the precinct. Of course, my favorite blond waitress was staring at me from behind the counter, disheveled shirt and suspenders included. God only knows how I manage to force myself not to peek at her breasts and try to guess whether she’s wearing a bra or not under her white garments, every time I meet her on shift. She knows it too and teases me often about it, asking me if I’d be okay with a three-way-rumble. Of course my answer is always a flat “not interested”. I’m a professional, a detective with an ironclad ethos. Lejl’s gone through hell, she’s related to the main case I’m following and I can’t entertain the thought of bedding her. I need to keep a clear separation and I know when and where to say “no” – even to myself. So, that time I ordered a serving of focaccia to go with my half-finished cappuccino and waited, sighing like a schoolgirl at her first crush. It was then that a voice took me by surprise. An oddly familiar one, even if I couldn’t pinpoint where I had heard it.

“Oi, that horny gremlin’s obnoxious, right? She’s totes teasing you, like the idiot she is. That dumbass should learn where to draw the line.”

Another one that can’t mind her own business, great.

“Well, sucks to be me, I guess. No luck with flesh and bones girls…”

My answer came almost automatically, without even turning around.

“… which is why all my best friends are robots.”

I almost bit my tongue, after those words escaped my throat. I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud, even if it was the truth. To be fair, “only” two out of three of them were robots. The one who wasn’t is a gay albino scientist that had a crush on my mentor and is currently three floors below us, trying to find a couple more sodas to open while we’re stargazing. But, at that point, in that café, my answer caused a whistle that might as well have been mockery.

“Robots? Something like a Von Zee Jackhammer 7000…?”

I almost had a stroke when I heard that name.

“Come on, not that kind of robot!”

I smashed my fist on the table, turned to meet the owner of that voice. Only to meet two curious, shining eyes with a multitude of small patterns moving in their irises, framed by long, slick brown hair. In hindsight, it was dead clear who that girl was, but in that precise moment I was blinded by an aggressive urge to correct her.

“I was talking about a VORS – a military drone, not an automated sex doll! And my second best friend is the SPECTRA-equivalent of a K-numbered-series gynoid!”

I immediately regretted saying that, especially the part about the gynoid. That was supposed to be confidential, damn me. Well, huh, forgive me, Cybil, I didn’t want to bring you into this mess. You’re my favorite pal to hang around for shopping and going to the theater, while we aren’t shooting haemos together. I’ll bring you some flowers next time, I know you like them. In my defense, I didn’t say your name, so your secret is still safe-ish… hopefully. If anything bad comes out of this, I’ll be sure to cover for you, promise. I was saying? Oh, yes. Her face. The stranger with shiny irises listened to everything I said without batting an eye, before tapping her finger on her cheek repeatedly, as if to recall something from a far away corner of her mind.

“Oi, you’ve got a VORS? I wish I had one! They’re reliable, very good at following orders and really feel like human at times. Nothing like a Razor or an E-26, right? Those suck, but are cheap as heck.”

“I wouldn’t buy them even if they cost half as much as they do, especially the E-26s. Ever heard of New Hope, in Australia? All of the citizens were killed by haemos, even with a full squadron of rustbuckets on parade. I don’t know how they’re still selling them.”

“Didn’t the raptors take the fall for them? I’ve heard one of them deserted right after…”

“And? It’s those robots’ fault, not the dinos’. Whoever thought those machines were good enough for the task should have been fired on the spot and arrested for multiple homicide. But, yes, fuck the haemos. It’s always the haemos.”

“Fuck as in…?”

“Not the O’Rilley way.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t want to assume since…”

“Yeah, I know, I know. After her book, all the monsterfuckers came out of the woods.”

“Gal, you’ve got no idea! No! Idea! They’re so frickin’ annoying. I ain’t gonna get boned by a beast live on stream to fulfill their fantasy. I have standards.”

Live on stream. That was the moment where I started connecting the dots. That rusty peace medallion dangling over her chest was a dead giveaway, but, somehow, my brain had missed the hint completely. Before I fully realized whom I was talking to, though, that dumb blond waitress made her triumphant return, with a full slice of focaccia and an extra bowl of salted peanuts.

“Focaccia for the gloomy lady! I hope you’ll enjoy it, Veck!”

The moment I grabbed the dish, she turned towards the woman I was talking with, winking at her in the process, patting on her hair with her stylishly gloved hand.

“Chai, Chai, don’t steal her heart too, please! She’s got a terrible luck in fact of partners, she doesn’t need another delusion! Still, it’s so, so nice to see you two getting along well! I call it a success!”

Chai? As in Chai Constantine? As in… I almost spat my cappuccino, as my eyes widened to no end, my voice got cut short in my lungs.

“Lejl! Wait! Is she…?”

That gremlin smirked. Yes, she smirked, with a devilish grin made even more sinister by her weird tattoos. The smirk of a master schemer too forgetful to remember to wear a bra but, at the same time, capable of playing four dimensional chess on the spot. I was set up. I was set up and I didn’t even realize it. So much for ace investigator of the St. Patrick police, so much for the untamable hound of Yard. When she opened her lips again, I knew I had lost. I felt it.

“Veck, this is Blindseraphim. Chai, this is Veckert Rainer.”

Blasted. Name and all. In front of the erostreamer I watched like a desperate fool in a moment of utter emotional weakness, taking solace in seeing her getting the time of her life. It was happiness by proxy, since after the seventeenth rerun of Eliphya and the third of Ex Lacrima Remnant I had exhausted my usual library of comfort media. I can’t even remember why I opened a Booner account and how I found out about her, but the first impression got stuck in my mind. A blind tomboy with an abrasive, direct personality, who was also relatively well educated and more intelligent than one would have thought at a glance. I wasn’t even following her to get off – I was just… curious about her. Curious about the girl behind the blindfold. Like… how did a Crossbones operative, who might or might not have murdered several people as a contract killer, start a career as a porn actress? I thought it was a front, that she did that as a cover to reach for some depraved creep on her hit list, but no – she felt genuine. That was something that caused me to wonder who this Chai Constantine really was. And now, before even having the chance to wrap my head around that, I found myself staring at her in the flesh. With her staring at me in turn, equally dumbfounded.

“Wait, wait, wait, horny idiot! Rainer? That Veckert Rainer?!”

“Yup! That Veckert Rainer! And she’s a fan of yours too! What was your Booner handle, Veck? Something like TheNakedTruth36, right?”

There are moments where all your self-control goes to hell and even your shoulder angel invites you to strangle the person you’re talking to. That was one of those moments. Only by absolute sheer force of will I managed to restrain myself, as my face burned like wildfire, as my vocal cords threatened to explode in a cacophony of guttural howls.

“Oi? Like, seriously? It was you who made that huge donation last month?! Detective Veckert fuckin’ Rainer? I…”

I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t face her. In that moment, I was blind. Only black and red in front of my eyes, only first, second and third degree embarrassment. I swore to myself to twist Lejl’s neck after waterboarding her – or, rather, while waterboarding her – at the first occasion. That devilish imp, that blasted imbecile that was still grinning like the goblin she was. With Cybil and Blame’s help, nobody would have ever found the body. Nobody. Dan would have received a nice bonus sample for his Dreamer analysis too. As alluring as it sounded, though, I’m still Veckert Rainer.

And I know how miserable it is to wish for another person’s demise.

I calmed down, albeit slowly, one breath at a time. I would have punished Lejl, sooner or later, but in a commensurate way – like holding a special police exercise right under her window, with full blown sirens and blue lights too, when I was sure she was having some private time with her better half. Yeah, something like that. Not too ostentatious, not too violent. That made me feel better, more in control.

Despite everything, I was still myself.

“Hey, Veck, what have you done with the bottle of shoiga wine I gifted you for your birthday? I haven’t found it anywhere.”

Recollection time’s over, I guess, as yet another voice interrupts my silent contemplation of my recent past. I’m back to the top floor, back to laying down on a cot, under the firmament. I slowly turn my head towards the door, when those words are coming from. Dan’s there, with a crate full of cans. His white hair and earrings stand out even during the night, in the low, soft light surrounding us.

“I’ve wasted it on Werner’s cousin. Worst mistake ever: that gal wasn’t worth it.”

At least she was good in bed, but that was her only saving grace. When she started talking, I felt like suffocating her with a pillow. I mean, there’s only so much the wake-up man is a government conspiracy and probably an alien that I can stand. My dear Res Vertighel, know you’re ruining a generation with your shows. Of course, Dan shrugs, shakes his head. He’s gonna say told ya, as he always does, isn’t he?

“Didn’t I tell you she was a walking red flag?”

Bingo.

“You’re the last living person on this planet who should be giving relationship advice, Dan. Wasn’t your last date a drug dealer on the run?”

What little color his skin has vanishes without trace, as his eyes go blank. I went for the throat, no holds barred. His silence lasts for a couple more seconds, before he mutters something to himself and drowns his displeasure in soda.

“Fair.”

Chai chuckles at that exchange, almost spitting her tea. She warned me about that gal too, and Werner, and Cybil — hell even EiN. All of them told me to stay away from that blonde, that she had nice shapes and looked intelligent, but had bugs for brains – of the conspiratorial kind. Yet, I’m such an idiot when it comes to girls that I needed to crash against the wall head-first and try it on my skin. Sourest morning-after in a while, not recommended.

I down half of my alcohol-free beer, right as Dan sits on the concrete, opening a can of soda. I’m still surprised that he followed me to New Langdon. St. Patrick SHIELD was the perfect place for him – no danger of skin cancer, no extra UV light, not even a remote chance of a sunburn. And yet, at the first chance, he left the comfort of the dome for the annoyance of having to walk around coated by suncream, just for the excitement of analyzing ROPES. I’ll say it, I wish I had more Dans around, he has the mythical productivity of ten people and it’s clear he enjoys his job.

“Oi, look! Look there! Another one!”

Chai lifts her finger, shouts at us without looking away from the sky. I glance with the corner of my eye, almost miss it for a split second. A trail among the stars, disappearing immediately after burning like a candle – the reason of our impromptu stargazing session. A minor meteor swarm, not more than five, six events per hour and yet… we are here. Laying down on the roof of a tall building, in the middle of New Langdon. Drinking alcohol-free beer, tea and soda, while chatting about my disastrous love life. I can’t shake the feeling I should be working instead – November is getting dangerously close and I’m sure that flower-loving bastard is licking his non-existent lips in anticipation. Every time I think about that, guilt comes knocking at my mind’s door. Yet, I can’t push forward full throttle one hundred percent of my time: even someone like me needs precious little moments of respite. As soon as I shake that thought away, I notice another blaze, against all the odds. A meteor, splitting the sky, leaving a fiery trail in its wake, only to become part of the never-ending nothingness again, in the blink of an eye.

My first instinct, as irrational as it is, is making a wish.

The wish of being able to enjoy quiet evenings like this more often, when all of this is over.