By James L. Wilber
“In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming”
– H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of
Cthulhu
“I’ve seen things… seen things you little people wouldn’t believe…”
Roy Batty, Blade Runner
“I need you on this one, Frank. I need your magic.”
I sat across from the captain I hadn’t seen in a dozen years. Nicotine
infused vapor hung in the air, despite the fans that constantly whirred and spun. We could build these massive
arcologies, power them, make them immune to earthquake and storm, but they
never got the fucking ventilation right.
I sucked on my pipe, let my own vapor-smoke fill the air, expelling it
slowly to give me more time to respond. “I don’t understand. I haven’t been in
the game for over a decade. Even when I was, I was never like Holden, or Gaff,
or Deckard. I was always support and information. I think I fired my pistol
maybe twice my whole time on the force.”
I didn’t need this shit. I enjoyed my semi-retirement working in the
archives. The dance of the data files intrigued me. There was always a puzzle
to figure out, matching and cross-referencing what the bots missed.
Bryant leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers, and gave his
trademark shit-eating, benevolent smile. “That’s exactly why I need you. This
one’s fucking weird. You like weird.”