Our guest shrugged. “I did the same with the animal-shaped C4 in Caddyshack… Couldn’t resist bringing the leftovers home.”

  “Gophers troubles?” I asked, flipping my pointy ears.

  “Alley cats. Mostly,” he replied.

  My partner went on.

  Grant Park Chuck-E-Cheese

  South Callisto City (Callisto/Jupiter IV)

  A month ago

  “Jeez!” I said. “I don’t wanna waste those good-looking grenades! I was saving them for my anniversary!”

  Zéphyr took off her holosuit to be less visible in the dark. “Today is your birthday!”

  I smiled, pulling the pins on the red bombs with a flick of my teeth “Good call!”

  “And to think we were just supposed to go out shopping, grab a disgusting McRib, and watch an afternoon movie—I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

  “Don’t worry! I’m having a blast!” I reassured her before spitting the metal hooks over claw cranes still miraculously spared by the shooting.

  I silently rolled the deadly charges across the bumpy carpet to our assailant’s hideout. Seconds later, the grenades exploded, sending pieces of sheet metal, CRTs, and quarters flying through the rows of machines.

  Behind us, the fire grew. But the flames were immediately extinguished by automatic sprinklers.

  “Did you get him?” Zéphyr asked. Green liquid ran over her holosuit which looked like a black wetsuit coated with tiny round mirrors.

  I tried a timid glance. Taking advantage of the noise and the smoke screen provided by the incendiary devices, our target left his cover. He crouched on an old Zoltar machine, the fortune teller. Only his golden eyes shone in the darkness, and a sudden shiver ran down my spine. We weren’t dealing with an animatronic but a terrifying mutant. The skin of its flat head resembling cymbals oscillated between orange and green. Red lichen had grown on his hunched shoulders supporting a large and deformed turtle shell.

  “A Freak-turtle-clam-plant?” I whispered to my friend. “Am I fucking high?”

  “No, and you ain’t in Kansas, neither…”

  I positioned my gun against the lip of the whack-a-mole. The click of the hammer startled the monster, who grunted before probing the room with his bright eyes. With my chin, I subtly pointed to the huge cathode ray television on the stage next to him. “Z? You have access to it?”

  “Needless to say.” She plugged her white temple wire into a floor outlet to ensure better access than through infrared. “Get ready!”

  My pocket-cyborg’s eyes turned from creme to red. The TV was remotely activated, lighting up the room. The Buggles appeared on the screen in a white box, guitars at hand. Trevor Horn began to sing as the entire arcade broadcast Video Killed the Radio Star.

  I heard you on my wireless back in ‘52

  Lying awake, intent at tuning in on you

  If I was young, it didn’t stop you coming through

  Oh-a, oh-a

  The monster roared, but the thundering lyrics covered the scream. Disoriented by the power of the pop, he unceremoniously emptied his last magazine into the void before devouring his weapon. His flat yet massive jaws bent the metallic frame like it was a bunch of Twizzlers left all summer behind a windshield.

  Oh-a oh-a

  I met your children

  Oh-a oh-a

  What did you tell them?

  Rolling to a cabinet closer to my target, I straightened to lean against it. Controlling my breathing, I pressed the trigger, and hit the creature in the heart. Twice. I’m so skilled, you know?

  Sadly, the monster didn’t flinch. His veins pumped under his throat’s skin like when Hulk Hogan would swallow an entire cup of steroids. The pellets were absorbed by his soft plastron, and slowly vomited through weird gill-like trenches over his collarbone.

  “Alright then, cheater…” I taunted him, sheathing my gun and clenching my fingers. “Come to me. I dare you. I fucking dare you.”

  The sprinklers stopped. The monster’s wide mouth clapped. He charged at me without a second thought.

  Video killed the radio star

  Video killed the radio star

  Pictures came and broke your heart

  With one foot back and my fists raised, I was about to settle the matter in hand-to-hand combat when all the remaining lights and music went out.

  Oh-a-a-a oh

  I cursed out loud, before something tackled me heavily to the ground. We slipped on the waterlogged carpet right to the kitchen. There, I heard the monster’s jaws loudly clapping over my throat, and his fool breath moisturized my face.

  I cursed out loud. Again. I was about to be eaten alive by Pizza-Face—in a fucking Chuck-E-Cheese.

  Hating irony, I started fighting back before a flash occurred. A warm liquid splashed on my forehead, and the iron smell of blood filled my nostrils.

  My mind slowly came back to reality, and I opened my eyes. Lights went back on. The dead mutant laid on top of me. His noggin had exploded and looked more like a popcorn streaked with purple gore.

  “What happened?” I spat as I slid the smoking carcass to my side, against a fryer. Brain jelly covered my eyes and ran down inside my throat. It tasted like spoiled Gatorgum. “Ew!”

  Zéphyr stepped over a cart. “I saw from the network he had a nice batch of processors in his skull. I blew up some transmitter’s battery after bypassing the meager security. Trivial.”

  “A Radio-Freak?” I spat again, sitting up. “Shit’s a barf bag.”

  Back behind her glitchy holo-appearance of Winona Ryder, my sexy savior grabbed a fork. Crouching, she triturated what was left of the fuming braincase. “More like a tracking implant. This odd creature was remotely monitored,” she explained as she revealed a melted plastic box and wires among the lilac ooze. “Someone on this moon is playing us a bad joke—a bad Halloween joke. Three days late.”

  “Gag me with a spoon! Can you trace the dip who did this?”

  She shrugged while several shrill police sirens could be heard outside.

  3. ALI & ZEPHYR’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE

  Roof of the Palmer House Hotel

  Downtown Callisto City (Callisto/Jupiter IV)

  Present day

  “Am I hearing a drone?” Looking up through the widest hole in the tank’s roof, I saw a small black dot buzzing in the brown clouds above the New Tribune Tower.

  “We’re on Callisto!” my partner uttered, hiding her wrist implant under her jacket’s sleeve. The screen lit up through the fabric. “There are drones everywhere!”

  “Probably because of the Techno-base,” Bill Murray added.

  I squinted. “No. You ordered food!”

  Ali lied, but our guest confessed, knotting a makeshift napkin around his neck. In response, she punched him in the shoulder. “You’re lame, dude.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Your friend Sylvester will find out when the delivery guy shows up.”

  “You ain’t wrong…” Ali patted her jacket pockets. “On the other hand, I won’t have enough for a tip. Garfield will grouse!”

  I sighed. “Are you done with your ham-fisted references?”

  My partner emptied her brick of Dr. Pepper, and burped. Her reflux echoed throughout the cistern, and she continued recounting her bewildering adventure with the Data Maiden.

  Lobby of the Grant Park StarMart

  South Callisto City (Callisto/Jupiter IV)

  A month ago

  “The cavalry is always late,” Zéphyr joked, heading for the charging stations near the doors. There, she retrieved her electric skateboard. She had resumed a functional appearance; this time looking like a random valley girl from Las Pallas.

  My disco rollerblades screwed to my feet and my sneakers tied over my shoulder, we made our way to the street. It was near dark on Jupiter IV despite the ocher gas giant hanging directly overhead.

  Blue lights flashed from the corner of the nearest avenue. A second later, police cars skidded at full speed into the lesser gravity before parking on the sidewalk, honking the first rubberneckers into the puddles surrounding the road work.

  The traffic cut off by holographic yellow cords, we took the opportunity to roll towards the convenient store. The latter faced the mall. While a fine acidic mist fell from the angry skies, we put our asses under the flap, among the cigarette butts and scratch cards floating in the gutter. Over the foul stream floated a silver slick smelling like AquaNet hairspray. It leaked from the giant dumpsters of the adjacent five-story barber shop.

  “Do you need a new tee-shirt? Yours seems covered in purple blood,” asked my cyber-savior.

  I grumbled in response, as I brushed my platinum badge. I had made sure to keep it in the front pocket of my overalls, but some mutant meat managed to stain it anyway.

  Meanwhile, an unmarked black Lincoln with tinted windows accompanying the CPD convoy squealed its brake pads near the out-of-service gas pump. From the doors, two square-jawed, broad-shouldered men wearing impeccable suits with wide short ties immediately emerged.

  “The FBI…” reacted Zéphyr. “ Not good.”

  “The FBI? Wasn’t it disbanded during the Hard Reset?” I asked as G-Men Tweedledee and Tweedledum slammed their doors. Like androids, they mechanically probed the area.

  “Those guys are from the Freak Bureau of Investigation—the Martian Techno-Federal entity. I will let you handle them. I’m allergic.”

  “The mutant police?” I told myself. For Zéphyr had already disappeared into the empty aisles of the store, I let my frustration boil over: “Nice of you to leave me alone with the sinister pigs!”

  When I turned around, the two grumpy-looking agents were already on my ass. “Bounty hunter?” one of them asked, judging me from his six-foot height.

  I stood up, rubbing my sore backside because of the pebbles spelled over the acid-ridden asphalt. “Yes. By the way, I love your alien poachers look from the ‘50s. Big fan!”

  Both men silently glared at me from behind their dark glasses. They were no Freaks. A bit strange when you serve the government department dedicated to half-human, half-animal citizens.

  “Agent De Mornay. Freak Bureau of Investigation,” the same man introduced himself, flashing his badge a few millimeters from my nose. As he slammed his wallet shut, it smelled like Drakkar Noir cologne, fake leather and cigarette. “And this is Agent Gross.”

  “No shit…” I joked, turning to the second guy.

  “Was that you at the StarMart?” continued De Mornay’s carbon copy. Readjusting his jacket, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket.

  “Yes,” I replied, rolling my Alliance badge between my fingers. “This moon has a rodent problem.”

  Gross glared at his colleague before pointing to the Circle K with his big, manly chin. “What about her? Is she an auxiliary too?”

  Behind the dirty glass, Zéphyr was candidly trying on new pairs of sunglasses near a self-serve blending bar.

  I smiled as she readjusted the mirror to her height, and Agent Gross had to repeat his question: “Is your fashionista sister a sworn official?”

  “No,” I replied, turning back to him.

  Next to Gross, De Mornay also lit a cigarette. “May I ask what the hell you’re doing on this moon-city, Ali? Isn’t your damn cat with you tonight?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Did we meet before?”

  After vacuuming his nicotine deep into his lungs, the FBI agent exhaled a long asphyxiating breath. “You zeroed a Chinese mafia godfather on Europa and your insolent smile was all over the Jovian news networks for a week,” he continued. “So yes, the Bureau knows you.”

  “Rad. You want an autograph? Or a BJ?”

  At my question, De Mornay choked. It took several pats on the back from his partner—and another cigarette—to bring him to his senses. “No,” he coldly answered.

  “Your loss.”

  “Don’t be too much of a caustic show-off,” Gross interjected. “Otherwise, you’ll probably regret it, girl.”

  He then looked at his watch, which blinked. Impassively, the G-man drew from it a small steel wire with his fingertips. I thought he would strangle me like in Tom Clancy’s books, but instead, plugged it into his black glasses’ side frame. On the lenses danced lines of data I was unable to read properly or even understand. When these disappeared, he put away the cord.

  “You’re now grounded until further notice. Your Auxiliary badge is deactivated,” he explained, tossing his cigarette butt a few centimeters away from the silver liquid stagnating around a manhole, causing a shy sparkle.

  “What?” I exploded. I almost lost my balance on my rollerblades. “Why? ‘cause I fragged a kid-eating radioactive plant-turtle? That ain’t fair!”

  “Your blunder may be costly, indeed,” Gross interjected. “Techno-President Bush doesn’t want to rock the boat with the mutant community, and now you’re killing one in an arcade!”

  “This one was a fucking Pet Monster on cocaine!”

  “Possibly…” De Mornay snarled. “Yet, you can’t shoot them on sight! You’re not a cop.”

  I was speechless.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Ali.” Gross went on. “Enjoy your birthday with your… sister.”

  “Girlfriend,” I grumbled.

  “Whatever. Leave us the mutants.”

  “Mutants?” I reacted. “Are there more?”

  Gross bit his cheek. “We’ll reactivate your badge once the case is closed,” he concluded before they both turned their backs on me, and headed to the mall.

  Roof of the Palmer House Hotel

  Downtown Callisto City (Callisto/Jupiter IV)

  Present day

  “Your story reminds me of our misadventures on Ceres with Braun Kamirov,” I interjected as there was a knock on the water tower’s door. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little confused?”

  Bill Murray opened the creaky door and retrieved two huge buckets of fried chicken from the belly drawer of a small drone.

  Ali pondered. “Maybe… There’s so much going on lately… I don’t know anymore!”

  “That’s fine…” interjected Bill Murray, passing her half the order. “The key is to improvise. I got that advice from Douglas Kenney.”

  “The guy from Martian Lampoon?”

  “A Holy Man,” Bill Murray concluded, dedicating his first chicken wing to him. “Please proceed, Ali… now that we can munch!”

  Columbus Drive Circle K

  South Callisto City (Callisto/Jupiter IV)

  A month ago

  “Strange things are afoot at the Circle K,” Zéphyr quoted as she joined me. Her skateboard tucked under her arm, she handed me a comic book and a white Modern Talking crop top. “What did the feds want?”

  “There you are! You quitter!” I growled before skating away with my new T on, my overalls’ sleeves knotted around my waist.

  Zéphyr slid her board across the uneven ground to follow me. “I had no choice, Ali-love. That kind of guy could have detected my holosuit—the lenses, you see? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  I managed to detail my discussion with Gross and De Mornay as we reached the bike path leading to the stormy shores of Lake Callisto.

  My cheeky cyborg laughed. “Grounding you? No way.”

  “Yes way…”

  “Isn’t it the fastest way to get you involved?”

  I turned around, slipping into the wind to stare at her. “No one’s stealing that badge from me. It’s actually Lee’s. Those posers promised to reactivate it when the case’s over. But if it takes forever—and it will—my bad-tempered pilot will nuke my butt!”

  Dashing forward, my girlfriend passed me to run a red light. “We’ll solve this mutants’ story for them, then!” she said over the horn of a taxicab.

  “You bet!”

  Zéphyr stopped, her back against a newspaper dispenser used as a needle dump by junkies. “But we got to enjoy your birthday first, right? What time is it?”

  “Do you have a plan for the afternoon?” I asked, slamming the button to traverse the avenue leading to the Marine Pier.

  “We’re on Callisto. There’s always a bodacious plan!”

  With all the power of her cybernetic body, Zéphyr dashed throughout the crosswalk as the light turned green. I followed her with difficulty along the Lakefront Trail, zigzagging between onlookers and joggers in miniskirts for about fifteen minutes. She spun around a few times, then smiled broadly and started strolling again whistling Downtown.

  When I thought I’d lost sight of her at the marina, Zéphyr reappeared behind me. “This way!” she uttered, taking my arm before veering behind a bus stop at the last moment. With her finger, she pointed to the other side of a vertical-lift bridge. There, a crowd of web-punks and space cowboys were smoking under the sizzling dragon-like ensign of a dance bar. “Limahl is rehearsing there this afternoon. Before his concert tonight!”

  “Cool beans, Z!”

  My cyber-girlfriend and I crossed the river of stagnant water. Making our way to the doors of the bar, among the regulars in leather jackets and colorful Mohawks, we sat down in a booth to the right of the counter.

  The foam of the benches was damp and the table sticky. Through the cigarette smog, we could barely see the face of the robotic waiter wearing a stained Stenson who came to take our order. Although he was a machine, he was also smoking.

  “Whoa, he didn’t even card us… I definitely look 21…” I whined once he left us. “Z … I’m old. This is the end. One year from now, I’ll knit mittens by the fire and watch Golden Girls.”

  My cyber-girlfriend remained silent.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re being followed,” she told me as her eyes flashed through the smoke. She had changed her holo-clothes for a black rockerboy jacket and red hair tied in a ponytail with a sparkling scrunchy.

  “Followed? By whom? The two Martian dufus?” I asked.