I need to tell you the year was 2152 and the temperature of Lake Michigan near the City of Chicago was an average 21 C. What I’m going to call the Sears Tower still stood, but that icon was lost among spacescraper spires.
Lexanna knew her precise coordinates to the meter and a translucent arrow directed her path. These things happened in the same way you [read/hear] these words: automatic, nearly without effort [I hope!].
In these ways, Lex was not unique, most people in the nation of Chicagoland had these abilities. Despite the collapse of the United States of America, the world endured. The world had moved on. In other ways, she was quite unique. One example, instead of pointing her to an event, or home, Lexanna’s navigation arrow pointed to DJ Moby Dick, her assassination target. Lex had implanted a tracking device months ago.
To explain the target’s name: “DJ” meant he was a DJ, and “Moby Dick” meant he was a 38-ton sperm whale. His underwater ultrasonic techno music was quite popular with the younger cetacean set. His talents didn’t end there; he was also a terrible person. DJ Moby Dick was a sex trafficker. Someone—Lexanna suspected a relative—submitted a job on eMercenary. The app had a field for special requests, “Kill him so he can be useful to at least the bottom-feeders.”
One would think that in any rational society, a sex trafficker would draw the attention of police. Except, Chicagoland was not a rational society; it took after its grandparent, the United States of America.
Police in Chicagoland funded itself via “Justice Insurance.” Most in Chicagoland couldn’t afford medical insurance, let alone something as abstract as “justice.” Therefore, Justice was often served outside of the criminal record. Not that the cops even could capture this guy; jailing a whale was tons of problems.
The beach had a boardwalk, so Lex took a moment and leaned against the railing, taking in the sights. A fortunate break in the spacescrapers let the sun hit the sand, warming it and giving life to the shoreline. A few children threw a Frisbee among themselves. A pair of dolphins leapt up out of the water. The wind fluttered her long, simple blue dress.
“This is a nice little beach,” she said out loud. “I should bring Eragwen out here.”
Via the subvocal channel, Lexanna heard Sam say, “Noted. Target just left his green room.” Sam was Lex’s assistant. She often visualized herself as a tall otter.
“You ever listen to his stuff? I never could get into him.”
“I find him un-inspired. Keep focused.”
“I think I’m falling for Eragwen.”
“You say that with everyone.”
“Last night was magical, Sam,” Lex said.
“I was there,” Sam reminded her. “I am always there.”
Lex said aloud, “Sweet mother, I cannot weave.”
“Focus”, Sam said. “We have a job to do.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lex said aloud.
As she walked the dozen meters of beach between the boardwalk and the water, her shoes disappeared in an instant, replaced by her feet. held the only evidence as her footprints morphed from heeled boots to bare soles sinking into the sand.
Lexanna walked into the lake. As the blue dress touched the water, it dissolved leaving her in a plain bathing suit.
She swam far, out of range of the lifeguards and LifeBuoys—automated microphones designed to up the sounds of struggle. She sunk her head under the water for a deep dive. Immediately, she could hear the underwater techno from miles away, thanks to the sound properties underwater. If Lex were using unmodified ears, they might be damaged if she went closer.
“Sam, can you activate noise cancelling? The music specifically.”
The music attenuated to a tolerable level.
“Not your jam?” Sam asked.
“Just not now,” Lex said, she dove deeper and just kept swimming. Daylight from above rippled the sky, lighting the lakebed.
Some trans species populations lived with cis species in the open oceans, but most preferred less hostile habitats, such as the Great Lakes. Deeper depths terrified the average primate brain.
Lex noticed a long-sunken boat below. A set of holes in the wooden hull suggested cannon fire, but Sam’s constant background research functions found no mention of ship name or even battle in the general coordinates. Two of the holes were close together, so she swam into the wreck.
Chimerization of human bodies had specific requirements: mammalian forms of a minimum size. It typically took years for a “complete” change, if such a thing were even possible. But Lexanna’s system was, in a word, unique.
In an instant, her entire appearance changed, from human to fish.
Once Lex’s body disappeared, it left a human-shaped bubble of air. The gas flowed upward through the wreck, eventually flowing into another pocket of air, freshening the air that had been there since the boat sank.
Lexanna developed a method of hard-light projection. It was able to create, at least visually, any object. And she used this, for some reason, to kill people.
Photo-realistic 3D holograms had existed for decades, and many people decorated with them—it was part of the latest architectural movement. The applications were most often entertainment or easy installation of opaque walls. Sure, everyone agreed it was cool. But then what? It’s not like you could touch the things. They had no weight.
Even in many corrupt countries, a person who solved the engineering problems for hard-light holograms would get so rich that they could buy anything except being “cool.” The invention was the beginning of the end for scarcity.
Lexanna’s invention could have helped everyone on earth. But she didn’t even bother. Instead, around a hundred years after the American Collapse, Lex placed, herself into the calculus of violence from across the country; A quantum communication device connected her generator to a vault in the West Virginian Wastes.
“What if someone wants to eat you?” Sam asked.
“Good point,” she said. “But I don’t want to deal with ticketing. Should be fine. We can outrun them easily.”
She left the shipwreck and swam toward the music, tail flapping to the beat.
—
A few boats on the surface dangled fishing lines to fuck with the individuals below. Lexanna avoided the wormy temptations and swam over the immense crowd. The crowd was not limited to the ground, but almost a dome shaped. Submersibles with humans next to mermaids and all manner of sea mammals surrounded the whale, dancing in unison.
The plan was to get the generator within range of the whale, use her tech to take control of any air in his lungs, and twist.
She let her little fish body drift down far enough.
“OK. Let’s do this,” Lex said. And so she did.
DJ Moby Dick stopped moving and groaned, making the water reverberate. From his blowhole, dark red blood erupted into the water. Lights flashed, sending shards of ruby light into the crowd. They cheered, thinking it was part of the show.
The music kept playing, the tracks changed without any tending. “Oh god,” Lex said. “He was miming a DJ set.”
By now, it was obvious something was wrong; Dick had started seizing. At the smell of blood, everyone scattered in all directions, at least there were no trampling.
“Let’s go,” Sam said. “Sharks are coming.” The Sharks in question were a gang. She could kill them all, but why make a mess?
After a few more minutes, after everyone had scattered like currents, DJ Moby Dick died. Nobody bothered to pick up the whale’s corpse. He may have been a monster, but he was a tasty dinner for someone.
