Search for the Good Doctor

A Shade Chronicle adventure

Book One

by D. Andrews Bishop

Copyright © 2011 by D. Andrews Bishop

All rights reserved.

Download the entire novel at www.dandrewsbishop.com

1.

Like a thousand other things in his life, it needed to be coddled, this cold, hapless device, symbolic of some unutterable wrongness with the world. Pax punched in a perfect sequence of numbers, but the display remained blank, a big dark nothing. At last, a young woman faded in, signature crystal pendant dangling between her cleavage, enlivening the display like a moonlit sky.

"You're not encrypted," Pax barked at the woman. "They watch. How many times must I remind you?"

"Got what I want yet?" asked Living Angel.

"Waiting."

"You should hook me up with some."

"Should quit, before it's too late."

She grinned, masking her disapproval. "Heard that one before."

The display flickered, and then died. He smashed the plasmator on his hemp pants like a frustrated child. She reappeared, image clear as a bell. "Close one," he crowed, relieved. "Thought they'd sent you away by now."

She played with a ring of pink orchids resting in her hair. "Didn't know you cared," she ribbed, sticking out her tongue fancifully.

"I care," he admitted. "I care too much."

The front door quivered, rounds of thunderous knocks nearly tearing it off its hinges. Pax aimed the plasmator at the sound, bringing up the dealer's pouting mug on the display. "Expecting you," he muttered, opening the door and letting him in. "You've got the good stuff."

"Indeed, Mr. Pax," he replied. There was a pause, as he looked Pax up and down. "You aren't a Zazzer, are you? That hair, mister. You're looking a bit rough around the edges since I last saw you."

"My barber is out of town," Pax explained, sheepishly. He wrapped his hair into a ponytail, hoping the dealer wouldn't realize his true identity.

The man smirked, not entirely convinced. "Let's get to business," he finally relented.

"Hate them, the Zazzers, those freaks," Pax blustered, faking an uninspired rant. "They've ruined the Seven Provinces. We shouldn't be tolerant of their habits, their degenerate culture. Nobody likes them. Nobody wants them. The Theomonarch should throw them all into the Dispersion, like they did with the Dinkees."

"Not arguing with you there, friend. As a soldier, my brother killed lots of that filth. They're taking over. Thankfully we've outlawed that language they speak. What do they call it?"

"Slang," Pax informed him breathlessly. "A simplistic dialect spoken at the height of the Washingtonian Republic."

"Yes, it's referenced briefly in our schools as a cautionary tale. Complete crap. I understand why the Postindustrials outlawed it."

The dealer paused, pulling out a plastic baggie. His head, shaved clean, shined like a great big beacon. "Always open for business," he spat out happily. "Until they make the stuff legal. But that's only if the Clerics think it can make a profit. I wouldn't put it past them. You know what happened to its precursor."

He handed Pax the Pill. "Sorry," Pax reminded him softly, "but this is too much."

"Thought I'd add some, since you like it so much. It's on me. The only favor I ask is you upload some into my Cereb-Chip. A double hit."

The dealer whipped out an injector: a shinier, more potent-looking than Pax's dilapidated model.

"A double hit's risky, of course," Pax warned.

"I'll inject you first. To relax you. Then, you won't question me."

Pax didn't want to go first, but he'd seem argumentative if he didn't. "Okay, it'll loosen me up."

The dealer loaded up the injector, piercing the back of Pax's skull. The junk shot into his brain like a speeding train, finding the proper pathway to his Cereb-Chip. It was all good from here. He'd feel no pain.

"Ready now?"

"Yes," Pax answered brightly, grabbing the injector from him. "Double-hit it is."

Pax thrust the injector into the dealer's skull. The man hit the floor; his body crumpled like a rag doll. Pax slapped his blanched cheeks, performing mouth to mouth, but the body slumped down, victim of some irrepressible, ungainly force.

Pax squatted beside him, rifling through the dealer's clammy pockets, scavenging the rest of the Pill. He injected quickly, all his panic emptying out. He couldn't believe he'd been so ruthless; but there it was, on full display, an outrageous act, even for him.

Through his bleary mind, he heard the plasmator ring. He went through the motions of answering it. "They're letting me out early. Did you get it, the Pill?" asked Living Angel, smiling pleasantly.

"Two bundle-rolls. Enough for a week," he answered, dangling it in front of her. "Maybe you should stay later, log some overtime."

"Overtime? They never give it out, and if they did they'd cheat me out of my pay."

"Maybe you should do some shopping," he suggested, rubbing his hands together nervously. He glanced down at the dealer's body. Nothing had changed.

"You can't be serious," she replied. "We don't shop I'm surprised at you for even-"

"See what you mean. Come over right away. Forget what I said. We'll party tonight."

Pax hauled the dealer to the sofa, propping him up like a display dummy. He could eviscerate the body by configuring the plasmator to precise specifications, but that would send out alarm bells. He could swaddle him, but the encryption would be cracked. He was in a very bad place now. His options were severely limited.

There was a weak knock at the door. Dread poured into every cell of his body. He dashed over, throwing a blanket over the body, but it was too late.

"What the fuck-"

"Yes, I meant to open up, but I was busy," he blurted out, watching Living Angel's eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

"What's this?" she screamed. "What the hell!"

He emptied the drugs into her covetous hands. "Easy now, I know what you're going to say," Pax bellowed. "I got the stuff. That's what counts."

She ignored him. "They're going to be crawling all over. I don't have to tell you."

"Not as bad as it looks."

"Let's go," she said, face reddening. "I'm not going to wait for one of those Invigilator assholes."

"We'll have to stop by your Closet-Quarters first," he suggested.

"That's way across the Home City. I'm sure they've homed in on the dealer's Cereb-Chip. Forget it. Just forget it."

"Probably, but he's low priority because he's a dealer."

"Jerome, he's a Citizen Bland, and we're Zazzers."

Pax drew her near-but she veered off, suspicious of anything he said, of any comforting gesture he might make to assuage her fears. She couldn't believe this was real; yet nothing, absolutely nothing, was impossible with Pax. She feared this the most, the daunting uncertainty of it all, the unfairness of their plight. But now, there was no turning back, no reclaiming of an idyllic past that, in truth, had never really existed.