The Books of Inhumanity

Judas

Planet Monsoon, Desperado System, 2489

My coat tail bounced back and forth between my legs as I raced up the old, decaying staircase. When I reached the ninth floor, I stopped. Next was the roof. I looked first at the staircase that lead onto that top level, then through the opening in the ceiling. There probably used to be a sheltered roof above, but the bombings from a war of yesteryear took most of the old buildings, and their frail structures, away. Colonial Architects of these thought because this planet had lower gravity, they could make bigger buildings with less materials.

As my vision cut through that rectangular hole, I saw the gray and green clouds looming overhead. The soft yet solid and heavy rain fell onto the stairs like a field of bullets, each drop digging into the concrete, separating the nickel and water in a swift, yet gentle pitter-patter. The stairs had been subject to this for so long, the dimples on each step seemed to multiply every time I looked at them. The clouds above swirled in a light and surprisingly pleasant torrent of water and pollution-made metals in the air. The mesmerizing weather of this world, and all worlds in this strange galaxy often distracted me from the tasks at hand.

I moved on. I walked up the stairs, careful not to slip on the almost stalagmited, slippery surface. The combat boots I wore helped with traction. I took position against a window overlooking the middle square of the town. I took my rifle off my back and set it against the decayed half-wall. I looked outwards, to the crowd of people gathered. Some protesters on the south end of the area were being held back by local law enforcement. On the north end was a platform of sorts, sheltering a collection of suits and the snakes that filled them from the rain. On the thick metal barrier above them, was a large banner that read, "Annual Meeting of World Leaders of Monsoon." The ugly red text was on a puke-yellow background. Clearly the height of graphic design.

I pressed the power button on the left side of my glasses to turn on my TAA, target acquisition assistant. My vision lit up with a blue heads up display. A robotic voice spoke into my earpiece saying, "Good afternoon, Miss Judas. Please scan target information." I held up a small piece of paper in front of my vision, which had a simple VS-code on it. New dialogues on my HUD appeared, indicating that TAA was scanning the code. "Target is Chad Goulding. President of the city-state of New Orlando on Planet Monsoon." An image of him popped up in the upper left corner of my display.

I know, I impatiently thought. I'd be making 1.5 million credits off of him. The person who posted the bounty came to me with special instructions, for that sweet million and a half price. Not as much as it used to be, but still good for a hit-job. If I didn't meet his extra demands, I'd make half that price. He wrote the instructions on a napkin at the bar we talked at, at the Titania relay, a few parsecs from here.

The kill must be public. Preferably at the Meeting of World Leaders.

It must be a head shot.

Kill the first lady.

I remembered asking, "Why does the first lady need to die?"

"She's worse than he is," the man told me with a vengeful scowl on his face.

I used the small, one dimensional touchpad on the right side of my glasses to zoom in on the platform at the north end of the crowd. I looked over the collection of carpet-bagging politicians, and saw Goulding, the second one to the left. The seat to his right was empty, meaning he was to speak next after the chump hogging the microphone was done attempting to make himself look better.

"TAA, activate long-range microphone." I started to listen. Better than standing here waiting. I grabbed a chair behind me, and sat down, still looking out the window.