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Naptime
Written By: Karen Stahl
Fiction
Naptime the Mime had never wanted things to turn out the way they did. He had never done anything to hurt anyone. He hadn't made any enemies. He hadn't made any friends worth mentioning, really, nothing he had done earned him this fate.
The Syndicate don't care what people deserve. What matters is only what the Syndicate needs.
The message came suddenly, just as he dock with the station on the arrival shuttle. He felt he was being watched - the timing was too precise to be a mistake. And the contents of the message... he shuddered as he read.
It used his real name.
It noted the names and homes of everyone in his family.
It came with a code; a phoenetic letter and a three-digit number, and it came with three objectives.
1. Assassinate Chief Killian, the Research Director.
2. Ensure that Hanaki Nii, the Assistant, does not escape alive.
3. Die a glorious death.
The room around him seemed to fall silent. Colors seemed to fade. 124 Omega. Assassinate Chief Killian. We know where your family lives.
Die a glorious death.
-----
Naptime the Mime was a family man at heart. He signed up to Space Station 13 with the expectation that he would, at least intermittently, be able to see them. He wasn't, and this grinded on him, but he never lost his love for his wife and daughter. With the passage of time, he slowly came to realize that he didn't really have a choice in this.
124 Omega. His PDA beeped softly, and he was greeted with a seemingly endless selection of tools for murder. Energy Sword, Minibomb, Agent Card - he couldn't process it all. He couldn't, and so he didn't. He picked what stood out most, perhaps the only item he recognized - the Cryptographic Sequencer - and before it had finished materializing in his hands, he was already departing the theatre, on a warpath for the research department.
-----
Naptime the Mime knew a thing or two about combustion, and plasma's role in it. He couldn't possibly bring himself to hurt someone directly, and he couldn't watch anyone as they died from his own work, but somehow he had it in him to do this.
He moved in from maintenance, he cut out the cameras, he moved into a corner, and he did his work. It was done quickly. The mixture was precise, the heat was intense. And he had only one.
One would be enough.
One would accomplish what the Syndicate needed from him, one would save his family.
-----
No one could have called out the explosion - the telecoms server was destroyed instantaneously.
No one could have found the bomber - he was right at the epicenter.
No one could reach the space suits in time - the station was depressurized in minutes.
The escape shuttle arrived to floating, asphyxiated bodies and dead silence.
-----
Naptime the Mime ceased to exist in the moment of his victory. The Syndicate, in their own unknowable way, knew this perfectly. His family was sent condolences, in a letter lined with dead anthrax spores. They never knew what became of their husband, their father, the man with a knack for comedy and love, who never returned from the grip of Nanotrasen's employment. But they could guess.
The seal on the letter was unmistakable, after all.
And so, in a way, it was clear.
The Syndicate don't care what people deserve. What matters is only what the Syndicate needs.
The message came suddenly, just as he dock with the station on the arrival shuttle. He felt he was being watched - the timing was too precise to be a mistake. And the contents of the message... he shuddered as he read.
It used his real name.
It noted the names and homes of everyone in his family.
It came with a code; a phoenetic letter and a three-digit number, and it came with three objectives.
1. Assassinate Chief Killian, the Research Director.
2. Ensure that Hanaki Nii, the Assistant, does not escape alive.
3. Die a glorious death.
The room around him seemed to fall silent. Colors seemed to fade. 124 Omega. Assassinate Chief Killian. We know where your family lives.
Die a glorious death.
-----
Naptime the Mime was a family man at heart. He signed up to Space Station 13 with the expectation that he would, at least intermittently, be able to see them. He wasn't, and this grinded on him, but he never lost his love for his wife and daughter. With the passage of time, he slowly came to realize that he didn't really have a choice in this.
124 Omega. His PDA beeped softly, and he was greeted with a seemingly endless selection of tools for murder. Energy Sword, Minibomb, Agent Card - he couldn't process it all. He couldn't, and so he didn't. He picked what stood out most, perhaps the only item he recognized - the Cryptographic Sequencer - and before it had finished materializing in his hands, he was already departing the theatre, on a warpath for the research department.
-----
Naptime the Mime knew a thing or two about combustion, and plasma's role in it. He couldn't possibly bring himself to hurt someone directly, and he couldn't watch anyone as they died from his own work, but somehow he had it in him to do this.
He moved in from maintenance, he cut out the cameras, he moved into a corner, and he did his work. It was done quickly. The mixture was precise, the heat was intense. And he had only one.
One would be enough.
One would accomplish what the Syndicate needed from him, one would save his family.
-----
No one could have called out the explosion - the telecoms server was destroyed instantaneously.
No one could have found the bomber - he was right at the epicenter.
No one could reach the space suits in time - the station was depressurized in minutes.
The escape shuttle arrived to floating, asphyxiated bodies and dead silence.
-----
Naptime the Mime ceased to exist in the moment of his victory. The Syndicate, in their own unknowable way, knew this perfectly. His family was sent condolences, in a letter lined with dead anthrax spores. They never knew what became of their husband, their father, the man with a knack for comedy and love, who never returned from the grip of Nanotrasen's employment. But they could guess.
The seal on the letter was unmistakable, after all.
And so, in a way, it was clear.