Waste Deep

Waste Deep Chapter 6: Fruit Snacks

Yiddek Valez was a doctor, quite a good one if his results had anything to say about it, but today he felt more like a rather third-rate lawyer. He'd poured over so many referential legal texts that he might as well buy himself one of those fancy faux leather briefcases. His brothers insurance was being more difficult than attempting to peel the sticker off a piece of fruit with hands the size of coffee tables. At some point you just started eating the stickers as well.

Energy drink cans and squishy fruit snack packages littered the entirety of his desk. As each package of the sweet snacks was but a drop in the nearly bottomless bucket that was his stomach, he was currently emptying three into his maw at once. As he let the now empty plastic fall onto his desk, he again glanced at his brothers most recent reports.

They made him question whether he even needed to be doing all this collegiate era studying in the first place. In only a few days Harvel had made the type of progress that would make any surgeon quit his practice and seek new employment in the field of religion. Frankly speaking this was a monetarily lateral move though you would most likely loose many friends and acquaintances.

The lacerations on his back were healing at an abnormal rate, and his cracked collar bone and broken ribs were almost as good as new. In a few days, Harvel had healed nearly a months-worth of injuries primarily through bed rest. Something his brother was not known for in the first place.

When their parents had come by Harvel had still been asleep. Yiddek had lied and told them that waking him up at this time was not advisable, but at this rate Harvel might well be doing backflips by next Monday. It was honestly baffling. At this point he was arguing more that he should be allowed to analyze Harvel instead of treat him.

It wasn't just the collar bone or the ribs that bothered him. When they'd brought him up Harvels spine had been separated by the centipedes mandibles. He shouldn't have even been able to stand up, let alone walk an hour back to the switch station. As much faith as he had in his brothers often bull-headed sheer will, there were some things that had limits.

This wasn't one of those shows his sister loved with all the flashy fights and odd colored hair. You couldn't overcome a spinal injury just because you wanted to really, really badly. That sort of shit is what got people killed. Adrenaline doesn't do much when there isn't any blood left to circulate it throughout the brain.

Yet, that's exactly what happened. Harvel had managed to make it back on his own two feet even if, at best, he should have only been able to crawl a couple of meters and then bleed out. As thankful as he was for Harvels rescue, it just shouldn't have happened.

He'd noticed some odd readings on Harvels blood work, but the stations equipment hadn't come off as the most reliable. It had failed to identify his blood type correctly three times before Yiddek had managed to get an accurate reading. The only way he'd get any conclusive data would be getting him back here to run real tests, no matter how much Harvel hated it.

Yiddek thought back to the first time he'd seen his sister after the whole thing. She'd been scared, but not in any way he'd seen her previously. She'd been scared at her sentencing. She'd been scared when people threw rocks at them as kids. This had been a different kind of fear, like she didn't know what to be afraid of.

She wouldn't tell him outright. Neither of them ever did. It was the curse of being the youngest. Nobody ever wanted to tell you anything, even when you got older.

He almost had to thank them. All it had really done in the long run was make him overly perceptive. He always had to piece everything together, and with practice you got good at such things. It's not like they were just going to start handing him wins now.

Yiddek sat back and rubbed the scales under his eyes. He was sure that something was wrong. He hadn't healed like this after the solvent incident. Had Harvel gone missing in the last few weeks that he could remember? Parish Inc. had been in the news lately for allegedly kidnapping and experimenting on the city's lower class. Though, if they'd discovered anything of value, he doubted they would have let him go.

Anything that could naturally heal bones in a matter of a few days and keep a man upright after a wound like Harvels would be worth trillions of credits. A company with a discovery like that would dominate the medical industry for decades to come. At the very least he would have heard rumors.

Nobody had said anything in any morning meetings, that's the usual place the company caught them up on what their spies had uncovered. Corporate espionage was practically a sport in this city, and Boris Metro Medical had a winning team. Parish was their only main competitor and with the recent scandal they barely registered as a threat, but he'd heard they had picked up some ringers in the latest draft.

At the beginning of every fiscal year you could walk down Holly street, nicknamed Snoops Mile, and see that there was practically a corporate hiring fair. He'd been posted at the Metro Medical tent his first year. He'd been surprised to find out that the men and women he'd interviewed had been of a particularly higher class than he'd expected.

Their suits were as nice as any he'd seen in the dome, with little gold plates and filigree lining the lapels and collars. After a few of the cursory questions he'd understood exactly why. It seemed corporate espionage was a bit of a family business. If you had the skills for it you could make damn near what the CEOs you were ratting out did, and if you could pass those skills on to an heir the generational wealth piled up. The real risk came from getting caught, coming back without results, or not verifying the legitimacy of your info.

One of their top earners, Mr. Hopper, always delivered. You wouldn't have guessed as much in a million years from looking at him. Small, mousey, with thin rimmed circular glasses, he looked like anyone you'd see working at a bank. And that's why he did so well. Nobody paid any attention when you looked like all the other boot lickers. He never came back empty handed, his info was always good, and his family lived like royalty.

Yiddek hadn't been in direct contact with Hopper since he'd hired him but if anyone would know anything it would be him. He didn't exactly fancy the idea of talking to him. Yiddek could never seem to get comfortable in his presence. He wasn't threatening by any means, but with all the information floating in and out of Hoppers head he didn't need to be. He was a threat. A very real one.

Most spies signed contracts that tied them to a specific company for a short amount of time. Hopper had never, and would never, sign a goddamn thing. He worked as an independent, and this worked because he was so damn good. This also meant he was never allowed within a mile of the building. If he was good enough to get one over on their competitors, he was certainly good enough to get one over on them.

He'd have to make contact with him somehow, but first he had to get Harvel to the dome. That in and of itself would be a gamble. He'd need to call in someone he could trust not to hand him over to another corp. Yiddek pulled up his contacts, his claw hovering over the name "Morrison". He knew exactly who he needed, but his bank account was going to be much lighter after hanging up the phone.

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