Weekly Drabble #245: Catalogue of Services (Patreon)

This week's drabble prompts of 'grown to order' from Sam C and 'clever girl' from Henri Black brings us back to the world of the Seeded, superheroes and supervillains and amoral mercenaries, oh my!

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Catalogue of Services:

“So, my dear,” Doctor Shelmeyer said as he led Rattler through his laboratory, a quartet of armed guards behind her and a pair between the scientist and the mercenary. His cane, made from expensive wood and topped with a sturdy dark marble sphere, tapped on the polished linoleum floors. “Should I be worried about inviting you into my laboratory?”

The reptilian Seeded blinked her red eyes. Normally, she would have been annoyed at how the older man referred to her, but Oswald Shelmeyer was an equal-opportunity patronizer. Everyone younger than the doctor was ‘my dear’ or ‘my boy’.“I don’t know,” she asked. “Should you?”

“Well, there was that recent incident with Brian von Diem, you know. He’s quite out of sorts about it and I heard even his brother is annoyed.”

“Annoyed with me, or Brian?”

“Knowing Patrick, probably both. But my dear, I can’t help but notice that you answered my question with a question.”

“Did I?”

Oswald chuckled, then took on a more serious air.“To be blunt, your actions have created some questions, and with questions comes uncertainty.”

“I was offered a job. I took it. I did the job. It’s that simple. Someone wanted me to bust Starlight out of Brian’s little butcher shop, so I did. I even tried to play nice and buy him off, but he wasn’t having it so,” she shrugged. “Things happened.”

“Yes, but it’s the nature of the job that has everyone so unsettled. You snatched a member of the Liberty League away from one of,” he paused, a wry smile turning up his lips. “‘our guys’. That is bound to make people curious... and uncertain. Especially given Longshot’s recent injury.”

“I heard his hands will heal.”

“They will. Strangely though, he hasn’t said a word about what happened. But there are some rumours that his injury is related to a job he’d performed... hmm,was it last year, or before that? Ah, I don’t suppose it matters that much, does it?”

“No,” the woman agreed. “It doesn’t matter at all.”

“But these things keep happening, don’t they? A certain – heh – superhero dies when someone shoots him with one of Longshot’s special bullets and then Brian von Diem loses a very promising acquisition.”

“You know I did the last one. What’s the first one got to do with me?”

“Perhaps nothing, my dear. Perhaps nothing at all.” Shelmeyer continued along the hallway. “But it does make one curious.”

“It also makes one irritable. Have you ever dealt with an irritated rattlesnake, Oswald?”

“I haven’t, no. A state of affairs I’m eager to see unchanged. So, simply then: why are you here at my humble workshop?”

“Common interests. We currently both have the same client.”

“We do?”

“Yes, an individual known to you as Mr. Seven-Two-Seven. He contracted you for a custom job. ‘Petalina’ is the working project name, isn’t it?”

The doctor didn’t confirm or deny any of that. It was true, but he took his clients’ confidentiality even more seriously than the mercenary. That was one reason why Rattler was so highly sought-after, even accounting for the recent swirl of rumours around the Seeded. She’d never given up any of her employers; if differences of opinion or difficult negotiations arose, the woman would handle them herself rather than involving others. Likewise, Dr. Shelmeyer took his own benefactors’ privacy extremely seriously and he didn’t intend on giving up anything just in case Sabeer’s presence here wasn’t as on the level as she was letting on. “Perhaps.”

She smirked. “Seven-Two-Seven is aware that ‘Petalina’ will be having a birthday soon,” she continued. “It was his intention to be here for that, but some business issues arose and needed his full attention.” She didn’t know what business her client had, nor had she asked beyond the usual question. ‘Is it relevant to my assignment?’ If it wasn’t, she didn’t need to know. If it was and someone kept that from her and her job went sideways because of it... well. She’d had very pointed discussions with employers about that kind of thing. Word had gotten around and these days most of her clients were very upfront. “There was also a data breach regarding Petalina – on his end. Seven Two Seven’s people are investigating it, but the possibility exists that some of his adversaries learned that he contracted you. Seven Two Seven has some very dedicated and very powerful competitors and he’s concerned about the project’s safety.I’m here to provide additional security until he arrives to take custody.”

“I have excellent security already,” Shelmeyer pointed out.

“You do. But not excellent enough. You have had breaches of your own in the past, Oswald. If someone was dedicated enough, they could get in. ”

“I suppose so. I suppose they could even talk their way inside of going through the front door,” Shelmeyer mildly pointed out.

His guest’s smile widened. She carefully reached into her jacket, the guards tensing momentarily, but relaxed at Shelmeyer’s waved hand. Rattler wasn’t adverse to concealed weapons, but she’d already been swept upon arrival. It wasn’t the threat of a hidden knife or plastic derringer he was worried about with her. The mercenary withdrew a letter from her inside breast pocket. It was still sealed with wax, the numbers 727 stamped into it. An archaic means of communication, but in a world of frequent electronic eavesdropping, it was a secure one. “My letter of introduction, signed by our mutual client.”

Oswalk accepted the letter, picking a loupe out of his pocket and examining the seal diligently before he broke it. He read through the note’s contents. Everything within it confirmed what Rattler had told him. “Well,” he said at last, putting the small eyepiece and letter away. “I will have to extend my sympathies to Mr. 727 for his recent unfortunate circumstances.” He patted his pocket. “This says I am to extend to you every courtesy and share all details relevant for the security of the project until our client can disentangle himself from his obligations. I’ll have a room prepared for your use and arrange a meeting with my own head of security. But first, I think you should see what you’re protecting.”

“That would be helpful.”

“And apologies for the impolite greeting. As I said, there are certain... uncertainties going around these days, but if Mr. 727 vouches for your conduct, then you’ll be as welcome as you ever have been here in my humble home.”

“Not that humble,” Rattler commented.

“No, no. Perhaps not that humble. This is, after all, where dreams become reality. If you can imagine it, my dear I can create it.”

“I’ve heard the sales pitch.”

“Well, then you’ll forgive an old man the love of his own voice, won’t you? You know, that offer is still on the table.”

“Not today, doctor.”

“Are you sure? I’d consider it an honour. You’re one of the finest examples of hybridization alive, the culmination of human and animal in a blend so perfectly formed it assures me that there is indeed some guiding hand behind the Seeding. I couldn’t create another Seeded, but I surely could make you a playmate. There’s this lovely Oriental girl I’ve seen around– we could put some diamondback in her, or perhaps something a little more exotic? Some blue white-lipped pit viper perchance? Or since you like to play on both teams, we could find you a handsome young man to adjust to your tastes...”

“I’m doing quite well for playmates, doctor. I don’t need them made for me.”

“My dear, you have no idea how saddened I am to hear you say that.” Oswald said, leading his companion deeper into the heart of his high-security laboratory, simple keypads giving way to keycards, retinal scanners and biometric locks as they delved deeper into the doctor’s research suites. Unlike Patrick von Diem and his lesser brother, Dr. Shelmeyer had no interest in chasing the science behind the Seeded or producing more of them, though he would happily use the science already done in furthering his own goals, funding it with the more commercial (though highly illegal) applications of his work.

Made to order was his tagline, from simple jobs of custom-made pets or designer babies to producing clones of animals or humans, whether to replace lost loved ones, harvest organs for the originals or for other purposes. He dealt a brisk trade in replica celebrities to those with deep enough wallets and unbalanced minds, but all of that was simply how he kept his lights running as he pursued the idea of the ‘perfect hybrid’. Tasha didn’t know what he meant by that and she was more than a little convinced that Oswald didn’t either. Nonetheless, it wasn’t her business, and at least he was better at his work than little boy Brian, even if they had very different fields of expertise.

They were in the Special Projects section now, and the air was heavy with a sickly-sweet perfume, a byproduct of the procedures that Oswald used. A handful of men and women in medical smocks and masks passed the group in the halls, or were knelt over microscopes and computers, hard at work. Oswald’s staff was small, but very devoted. At least as devoted as their next cheque. Regardless, from time to time, some of the doctor’s helpers grew a conscience and then accidents happened.

Though she kept any trace of it from her face, that thought brought a sharp pang to the woman as she remembered weaving through traffic, Kaley in the passenger seat, half-dead from Brian’s surgery. She’d gotten the other woman help in time, though, carrying her into a hospital’s emergency ward and insisting on immediate attention. A security guard had pissed himself when he recognized her, shaking like a leaf as he’d tried to draw his gun, but one look from one of the most dangerous Seeded on the planet convinced him otherwise. She’d still had to spend the next few hours dodging search drones and that fucking douchebag Right-On. No good deed goes unpunished, right? It was nice to have principles, but not when they got in the way.

You don’t really believe that, Kaley’s voice piped up in the back of Tasha’s mind like her own personal Jiminy Cricket. You just forgot what it’s like.

Shut up firefly, she told the imaginary Starlight. This isn’t the time.

It wasn’t. Not even close. She’d been hired for a simple job. Protect whatever Oswald had cooked up in his little hothouse until the client came to get it. Simple. No moral quandaries. Just some rich weirdo with more money than sense. God knew she was familiar enough with that type, but they paid the bills.

“And here we are,” Oswald said as he led Rattler through the final set of doors into a darkened observation room. “Project Petalina – currently unfinished.” Through the window, in the humid, misty chamber beyond there was a fleshy off-green chrysalis. It was almost two meters high, and held in place by metal bands around its base. Thick veiny tubes ran across the floor, connecting to the chrysalis and vanishing into the fog. Tasha couldn’t tell if they were plastic covered in growth or actually organic. The chrysalis’s surface was membranous and spotted like skin, the entire structure pulsing slowly like it was breathing. “But if I may say so, it’s some of my finest work to date.”

Tasha watched as something inside the chrysalis pressed against the fleshy outer wall, a human hand pushing out and then the impression of a face joined it, opened-mouthed as if silently screaming before withdrawing, the chrysalis returning to near-stillness.

“You see that?” Oswald said with a smile. “She’s getting feisty, so she’s just about ready. She’s looking forward to her birthday, yes she is.”

A thousand different questions and impulses ran through Tasha’s mind. She voiced none of them and acted on none.  I take the job, I do the job. It’s that simple. Those were her principles. Everything else, she’d leave to the superheroes.