Sorenha Woohurra screeched as the pus hit her in the chest. As always, she was dressed impeccably, in a tight-fitting, one-piece pink outfit, with frills ruffling out from her waist, a style in vogue with famous music celebrities. Curhuck Lhahnid cussed under his breath as he wiped the sticky, blue-green pus from his cheek. No one in the class could stand Mr. Lormate and having the bargabuko generated in a full holographic reality furthered every student’s distaste for the teacher.
Mr. Lormate’s teeth began to show in a crooked smile as he raised his gaze from Sorenha to Kadamba. “Well, Mr. Vorhoor, do you just plan to let this bargabuko decorate your classmates with its saliva, or will you get up here and dispatch it for us? You are so relaxed back there that I have every confidence that you can open the specimen and identify each part of its respiratory system for our illumination.”
Kadamba rapidly tapped on his desk with his fingers, wanting to get this over as quickly as possible. A shape like a knife began rising from the desk’s surface. His hand went to the handle of the blade, with his forearm hiding its size. He grasped the handle, keeping the large blade out of sight. The correct protocol was to generate a surgeon’s scalpel, slice the animal’s throat, and then dissect the creature. But not today.
Kadamba was tired of Mr. Lormate’s nasty, arrogant, and superior attitude. The blade in his hand was more like a large military, survival-style knife. Kadamba’s fingers felt comfortable in the form-fitted handle. The tip of the blade grazed near the Kadamba’s elbow, as he strode towards the front of the classroom. Kadamba didn’t care if what he was about to do would get him in trouble. He was on cloud nine. He had a date with Jundana in a few hours, and school break was only two days away. This would be worth it.
Two strides from the podium, he raised his hand above his head, revealing the deadly weapon. The expression on Mr. Lormate’s face was beyond epic. The teacher’s jaw dropped, slightly to the left, with his chin pulling back towards his neck. His eyes doubled in size. Kadamba could only hope that the disgusting smell in the room was rising not only from that nasty bargabuko but also from the mess that he hoped the teacher was making in his pants.
With his final stride to the table, Kadamba brought his arm down quickly and as strongly as he could. He tensed every muscle in his core, even pulling himself slightly into a squatting position to drive the point of the knife squarely through the center of the bargabuko’s skull. The thud was deafening as the creature’s chin slammed into the table, driven downward by the intensity of the stroke. The blade guard of the knife was partially crushed into the top of the bargabuko’s head, and the blade of the knife had driven clean through the head of the animal with its tip sticking out from the bottom of the table.
Mr. Lormate’s expression changed from shock to outrage almost instantaneously, but as he opened his mouth to scream at Kadamba, the classroom erupted in a chorus of cheers, shouts, and laughter. Slamming his hand onto the podium and pounding it a few times, with his face turning from a deep red to almost blue, Mr. Lormate glared at Kadamba. The bargabuko, its spattered blood and pus, the lab table, and even the terrible odor—disappeared. The classroom became silent as the teacher stood from his stool, his face hardening like stone.
“Mr. Vorhoor.” The words hissed through Mr. Lormate’s clenched teeth. He looked down at the podium and tapped his fingers very delicately. The wall behind him shimmered as it changed from a dull grey to a semi-translucent surface. A door-sized opening appeared, and a bright red line began to glow on the floor in the hallway leading away from the classroom. The teacher’s gaze met Kadamba’s, and Kadamba knew he had probably gone too far. “Goodbye, Mr. Vorhoor.”
*****
The school’s superintendent went easy on Kadamba. After all, the faculty and staff disliked Mr. Lormate too, and only two days were left in the school year. Ka would have to spend two extra days at school, helping clean up the campus and preparing it for the break. Not even really a severe punishment.
Kadamba walked out of the school and onto the wide, translucent pedestrian walkway some twenty stories above the ground. Living in Stujorkian City, the capital of the country of Lamaratia, a metropolis with more than 135 million residents, was all that Kadamba had ever known, and it was home. He loved the towering buildings of the central city, many covering multiple city blocks and stretching over two hundred stories into the sky. Like all major cities, the free transportation system was efficient and vast. He could wander and explore for hours on end. The pedestrian walkway spanned most of the central city. Below the walkway was a system of suspended, high-speed shuttle trains. Once the shuttle trains left the city, they dropped to ground level and fanned out into the vast plains that made up the metropolis.
On almost every corner of every block in the central city stood lift platforms that dropped to ground level from the pedestrian walkway. Adjacent to every platform was a wide, open staircase, leading to Stujorkian City’s sub-city. The sub-city, nearly as large as the central city itself, burrowed over forty stories below the ground. Warwon’s Deli was Kadamba’s destination. The deli sat thirty stories below ground in a large shopping plaza of narrow streets. While much of the sub-city was well-lit and open, Warwon’s Deli was at the end of a poorly-lit, narrow alley, in a part of the sub-city that someone like Kadamba should honestly try to avoid.
Kadamba took a deep breath, tried to put on the coldest, most serious face that he could, and began walking towards the deli. It was just like many delis with an open display of meats, cheeses, and other foodstuff that a patron could buy and take home. There was also a large display behind the counter that listed names, pictures, and prices of sandwiches and meals that could be prepared for takeaway. If you squeezed past the other customers, maybe you could find a table in the back. Kadamba didn’t bother to order. Pushing his way through the cranky, ill-mannered customers, he headed to the table at the far end of the narrow shop.
Two men, dressed in black, loose-fitting garb, played a card game at that final table. One of them wore dark glasses, despite that fact that it was already dark in the back corner of the shop. Neither looked up or acknowledged Kadamba as he approached. Here in Stujorkian City, weapons were prohibited. Only Corporate military were allowed to own or use any firearm that projected lasers, or energy blasts. In that dark corner of the sub-city, laws mattered less. Kadamba could see the handles of guns protruding from the shoulder holsters, under the black jackets of both men. Kadamba stood silently at the table, hoping this would go well.
“Looks like a little bargabuko found its way into the sewer,” one of the men remarked to the other, without looking up from his cards.
“And it’s a damn pretty one too,” responded the other.
“Oh, yeah, the Doctor, he likes them young and pristine. Sells better. Seems better. Thinks it’s lower risk.”
The man without glasses cocked his head towards Ka, looking him up and down.
“I’m here to see Doctor Z.” The words fell flat, sounding weak coming out of Kadamba’s mouth. Both men chuckled.
“If you ain’t here to see Doc Z, standing there in your pretty schoolboy clothes, carrying a schoolboy backpack, then you’d be in for an experience that you don’t even know exists.” As the words oozed out of his mouth, the other man turned in his chair towards Kadamba. He slowly removed the glasses from his face and stared directly into Kadamba’s eyes. Inside, the teenager was terrified. He wanted to turn and run but didn’t dare. With every bit of courage he could muster, Kadamba maintained the man’s gaze, repeating, “I’m here to see Doctor Z.”
The wall behind the table began to shimmer and turned semi-translucent. Kadamba could see that the room behind the wall looked like a spacious family room, with large sofas, a few chairs, and a table in the back. Kadamba could make out the shapes of three men standing on the back wall, looking as ominous as the two brutes sitting at the table. As an opening appeared in the wall, Kadamba knew that the man sitting comfortably on one of the large sofas was Doctor Z.
“Glad to see you found my office,” proclaimed Doctor Z, as he stood up and walked to the opening. “Please, come on in, and let’s do a little business.”
Kadamba stepped through the opening, and it vanished. When he looked back, the wall had transformed into a beautiful scene of a lake in the mountains.
“You seem so nervous. Please have a seat, my young friend,” said Doctor Z, his words as smooth as silk. His smile seemed to simply exude a sense of ease and comfort, but at the same time hid something menacing.
“Thanks,” replied Kadamba as he sat down tensely on one of the couches.
“I’m glad we’re getting an opportunity to meet face to face. You know that we’re very comfortable and completely safe here, Ka. Do you mind if I call you ‘Ka’?” asked Doctor Z.
“Okay,” replied Kadamba.
“Good. Now that we’ve dispensed with the formalities – how’s your business?” Doctor Z inquired softly, but it felt more like a demand. All of the pleasantries and courtesy evaporated as Kadamba looked into the dark, piercing eyes of his host.
This was Kadamba’s first time actually meeting Doctor Z. Only a few months before, Kadamba had been on one of his many solo trips exploring the sub-city, looking for choice, out-of-the-way places to knock back, without so many adult prying eyes. Schmarlo’s Landing was an excellent and favorite place to hang out, but it was 118 stories up, and he always seemed to run into someone’s mom or dad or family friend. On top of that, once in a while, it was fun to go underground.
A man who called himself Fuentes had walked up and sat down at the table where Kadamba was eating alone, in a vast open food court. At first, Kadamba was startled. A strange man in a strange place should set off warning bells galore, but Fuentes was smooth, smoother than anyone Kadamba had ever met. They chatted for a while, and Kadamba revealed more about himself than he ever should, but he didn’t even realize what he had done. By the end of the conversation, Kadamba had a small box in his hands.
Inside the box were six small packages that could be peeled open to reveal a rectangular adhesive strip with a sizable bump in the middle. Kadamba had heard of these – project Rs, the rummbie dummbies, sweetum’s ride, and a host of other street names. It was rath, a relative newcomer to the underworld drug market. Stujorkian City, like everyplace else, had a thriving illegal drug scene. It was the same everywhere on Koranth: Some drugs were unlawful, and some were legal and regulated.
The box and its contents were a gift from Fuentes to Kadamba. He could simply enjoy them alone or with his friends. He could even sell them if he liked. There were no strings attached. They were just a gift. If he wanted more, he would have to buy them. Before he left, Fuentes told Kadamba where he could be found next week if Kadamba wanted more, but he would need to bring money. Each ride with sweetum would cost twelve Konnary.
Kadamba began meeting regularly with Fuentes, always someplace different, but always in some out-of-the-way, very sketchy place in the sub-city.
Almost like a bolt of lightning, Kadamba had gone from being just another face in the crowd at his school to being a popular kid. He even made some new friends at other schools. He loved the popularity and relished the attention that those little adhesive strips were showering upon him.
Only a week before, Fuentes instructed Kadamba to meet him in a very different location. The smell of seafood outside of the packaging plant was almost overwhelming, and that was before Fuentes had opened the nondescript, metal door. Struggling not to gag on the pungent odor in the air, Kadamba had followed Fuentes through a huge room, passing by long tables piled high with fish and other creatures that Kadamba couldn’t identify. The workers, dressed in blood-spattered white smocks, barely even seemed to notice the pair as they passed by, on their way to the offices, situated in the middle of the building.
