Or at least I was. “So you’ve got me,” I said. “Let Meta go.”
“Go where?” said The Dealer. “There is nowhere to go until we reach my home world.”
“So let her go when we get there! She’s no use to you. She’s only here because...” Because I was a selfish fool and asked her to help me. “...because of me.”
“But once we reach Hydra,” said The Dealer, “she might tell someone about my operation, the wrong someone. “ He turned toward Meta, and the green wafer appeared on his tentacle again. “Fortunately, I can ensure she doesn’t. “
“No!” I screamed, and struggled to reach him, but the tentacles of the big Hydra held me like steel bands.
Meta, eyes wide, backed away from The Dealer, who stalked her like a cat, his human laughter fading into a hail of clicks. He lashed out and I flinched, but she ducked, then scrambled to the door and slapped at the control panel. The Dealer shot after her, but she threw herself through the doorway before it was open enough for The Dealer to follow. When he could, she was gone.
“Orbital, Meta!” I yelled after her, although her name ended in a squeak as the Hydra holding me tightened his grip.
The Dealer turned back. “Let her roam the ship. She can do us no harm, and there’s no place for her to hide.” He closed the door, then stood stock still for a moment before his eyes swung back to look at me. “Or is there? How did you stow away?”
“Sneaked on during loading,” I said, hoping Meta had been smart enough to head back to the monster cage—and that she’d be brave enough to return with the keychip later and try another rescue. The Dealer and his friend couldn’t stay in here forever. “It wasn’t hard.” I shrugged. “Now I know why. No crew.”
The Dealer squealed something and the big Hydra let me go. I rubbed my bruised arm. “Then how did you get into this module?”
“I’ve been fragging locks since half-height, octoman,” I sneered. “Good programming for those mean old streets, pre-Qualls.” Time to get off this subject. “Where is Qualls, anyway?”
“No doubt striving very hard to find the money to buy his way out of his contract with me,” said The Dealer. “Since he let you escape, he owes me my expected revenue from your services. The penalty for defaulting is rather severe.”
“You wouldn’t dare take him to court.”
“I wasn’t speaking of a legal penalty.”
Oh. “But you’ve got me, now.”
The Dealer waved his tentacles—a Hydran shrug? “And so I double my revenue. An excellent deal, don’t you think?”
The Hydra behind me shrieked, and The Dealer shrieked back. Without warning the big Hydra slapped a gag across my mouth, then shoved me into the corner. Before I could recover my balance he picked up a fat white tube and pointed it at me. A sticky green web engulfed me, pinning my legs together and my arms to my torso. I teetered and crashed to the floor. The big Hydra propped me up in the corner like a rag doll, then scuttled back. The Dealer stared down at me with all four eyes. “I’m low on flash, I see no reason to waste it on you,” he said. “You’re fortunate; now you will get to see for yourself what I have planned for you, and why you are valuable.” He squealed and the door opened again, revealing a new Hydra. As it and The Dealer exchanged ear-piercing greetings, my eyes widened. I knew that Hydra—
Rain!
I felt sick. The message in Fistfight City had been a trap! Rain must have hoped to capture me and then sell me back to The Dealer. Maybe he was in on the whole deal, and my meeting him in Fat Sloan’s on that months-ago rainy night had been no accident. He’d cleverly maneuvered me to the spaceport the next day, where Qualls waited...I tried to kick, to bang my head, to do something to attract his attention so he could see my hate-filled glare, but the webbing held, and Rain had eyes only for The Dealer and for Paul Jerez, still motionless in his circle of light.
The Dealer held out the green wafer he had tempted me with, and two others. Rain took them, but didn’t eat them. Instead he held them while The Dealer returned to his controls.
The circle of light expanded, elongating into an oval that almost touched my feet. The itching filled my bones again—then eased. And then Paul moved, turning expectantly in the oval, his eyes raised but unfocused, as though he were looking at something further away than the walls of the module. The Dealer clicked to Rain, who stepped inside the circle with none of the difficulty I had experienced—and then, to my horror, held out one of the green wafers to Paul, who took it gently from the end of one orange tentacle with his pink tongue, and swallowed.
As Rain watched, music began. Paul paused, moved, made a heartbreakingly graceful spin—and then The Dealer touched his controls and the circle flashed with light, and instantly Paul was standing three metres away from where he had started, his bare chest heaving and streaked with sweat. He bowed to Rain, who squealed and clicked enthusiastically. As I gaped at them, Paul returned to centre stage, Rain held out another wafer, Paul took it—and then Rain took one himself.
The music began again, Paul made the same—exactly the same—magnificent leap and spin, The Dealer touched his controls, the circle flashed, and there was Paul, again at the end of his dance, glistening with sweat, bowing to Rain.
Paul returned to the middle of the circle and assumed his ready-and-waiting, Rain stepped out of the circle, The Dealer did something at the controls, the circle shrank—and Paul froze, in the middle of a deep breath, his chest suddenly stilled.
I stared at him, horrified. No wonder Paris Paradise had aged so quickly. No wonder he had gone crazy. How many years of performing the same number—exactly the same number—before hallucinatory crowds had The Dealer crammed into Paris’s two-year contract? He could do the same song a thousand times and only minutes would pass in the outside world. And there would be no down-time when he needed to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom—because however much time he took went by in an instant out here, and there he was, ready to perform again—and again, and again.
And Qualls had sold me and my predecessors into that? Subjective years of drug-induced slavery, performing a dreary Sensation Single thousands of times for equally drug-crazed Hydras? If I could have made a sound, I would have screamed my rage. But helpless as luggage, I could only lie there and pray that somehow I could find a way out of this. Because if I didn’t, I would be as crazy as Paris Paradise, and in far less time.
Rain left without ever turning an eye in my direction; The Dealer and the other Hydra followed him to the door. The big Hydra squealed a question, but The Dealer, obviously speaking for my benefit, said, “Leave him. He’s not going anywhere and without his help the girl can never break in here. It will do him good to think over what he’s seen. Welcome to your new life, Mr. Nebula!” he called to me; then, with an eerie mixture of human and Hydra laughter, he went out, and the door closed behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I might have given up hope, then, except I knew that The Dealer was wrong. Meta could get back in. She still had the keychip. I wriggled around until I had a clear view of the door and waited for it to open. Any minute now, she’d come in and free me, and then—there had to be some way to get help, some kind of emergency communicator, or some way to talk to the computer, or—
But Meta didn’t come back, and didn’t come back, and didn’t come back, while my legs and arms tingled, then grew numb. I wriggled some more, trying to force blood into my limbs, but the Hydra had tied me too tightly. If Meta didn’t come soon, I might not even be able to walk.
She didn’t come soon. They’ve found her, I thought bitterly. And The Dealer’s threats hadn’t even been veiled: he’d use her to ensure my cooperation, then he’d kill her. And the scary thing was, I knew it would work. Back in Fistfight City I’d never had any real friends. Friends were a nuisance. They died, or went away, or cheated or robbed you first chance they got. I’d taken care of myself and liked it that way. I wouldn’t have crossed the street to save a rich kid like Meta, or anyone else. I remembered
the girl who’d begged me for help that stormy night I met Rain. Other people weren’t my concern. I had my own problems.
But Meta...Meta really was a friend, the first real friend I’d ever had. She’d already rescued me once. If The Dealer had her, I would do anything to free her—even sign a legal contract.
That’s it! I thought. If he has me legally, it won’t matter what she tells anyone. He’ll let her go!
And I’d be like poor Paris Paradise, like the frozen figure of Paul Jerez, still streaked with sweat from a dance that he’d performed hours ago in real time, drugged, hypnotized, locked in a bubble of alternity.
I tried not to think about it.
The adrenaline of being captured drained away, the fear of what would happen next and the expectation of Meta’s entrance followed, and in their absence my body took a notion to do the natural thing—sleep.
I woke in terror and thrashed around wildly, coming out of a horrible dream where I was surrounded by Hydras trying to stuff gigantic wafers of flash into my mouth—and rolled right into Meta, who squeaked and fell over. I blinked at her over my gag as she crawled back to me and went to work on my bonds with my knife. “Mmmmph. Mmmmmmmmph!” I demanded, and she pulled off my gag, taking what little facial hair I had with it. “Took you long enough,” I grumbled.
“That big Hydra was outside for hours. He finally went away—had to go to the bathroom or something, I guess.” She stopped clipping for a second. “How do Hydras go to the bathroom?”
“If you don’t hurry you’ll be able to ask The Dealer himself!”
She redoubled her efforts, but the sticky green web the Hydras had wrapped me in didn’t yield easily. It took several minutes to free me and several more before I could stand on legs that burned and tingled. I swayed. “Can you walk?” Meta asked anxiously.
“If I can’t, I’ll crawl. Let’s get out of here.”
I almost did have to crawl. My legs didn’t want to work, and twice I stumbled on the way to the door. I hesitated there for a minute. Should I wait for my legs to recover? If the big Hydra was back, we’d have to run for it—
But then I remembered just how fast that Hydra could move. If we had to run, we were already caught. Our only hope was that the Hydra had been called away by something more than nature—or else that Hydras took a long time to go to the bathroom.
I opened the door onto a deserted corridor. Glad we hadn’t waited, I led the way back toward our monster-filled module. As we reached the corner a bloodcurdling screech exploded behind us. I took one look back, saw the big Hydra racing toward us, tentacles lashing, and grabbed Meta’s hand and dragged her the rest the way, yelling at her to have the keychip ready. She slapped it in place, snatched it out again as the door opened, and we tumbled inside, then both turned and almost collided trying to get the door closed again before—
A red-orange tentacle the size of a freighter’s fuel hose lashed beneath the closing door, grabbed my ankle and yanked. Pain exploded in the back of my head as my skull cracked against the metal floor. I slammed my other foot against the door to keep from being pulled out. The door, sensing the tentacle, stopped, beeped a warning, and started up again. “Meta!” I screamed, and she hit the CLOSE control again. Down came the door, back up it started. While Meta played cat and mouse with it, I struggled frantically against the Hydra’s tug. How much strength did those tentacles have? I had a gruesome vision of my leg tearing off, and then screamed as my boot ripped painfully off my foot, the tentacle vanished, and the door closed and locked at last.
One foot bare, I staggered up, ignoring the goggling golden eyes of the creatures in the cages surrounding us. Better these monsters than the one in the hallway. “We’ve got to disable that door,” I gasped out. “We’ve got to lock ourselves in!”
Meta stared at me, then at the shelves of monsters. “In here?”
“The Dealer has a keychip for this!” My leg had hurt before—now I could hardly move it. I pulled myself up to the door controls. “If we can reprogram the lock, or break it—”
A light on the panel flashed green. “Back!” I screamed, and retreated, staggering, pushing Meta to the end of the module, as the door opened.
It framed the big Hydra—who stepped aside to reveal The Dealer. “You’re more resourceful than I thought, Mr. Nebula,” he said, and something about the way he said it, even in that neuter Hydran voice, made my skin crawl. Or maybe it was the way all four eyes glared at me, and the ends of his tentacles curled and uncurled. “But I simply can’t waste any more time with you, or your annoying female friend. Too much more disturbance and the captain-computer may take some unwelcome notice.” One of his eyes scanned the cages. “It is curious you should have chosen this particular cargo module in which to stow away, Mr. Nebula. As you may recall, I mentioned I am low on flash, which was why I postponed your conditioning. However, it occurs to me that you might be the perfect subject for an experiment, since, to an extent, you are expendable—Qualls will, after all, pay me what you would be worth as a performer, so should the experiment fail, all I would lose would be the extra revenue I could have made from having both your services and his payment. I’m willing to risk that.” A tentacle reached out and caressed the glass front of one of the cages. The creature inside followed the movement intently. “These beauties are called (hiss(click)screech). I don’t believe they have a name in your language, yet.”
“If these are your pets, snakehead, you must be hard up for friends.”
“Oh, they’re hardly pets. They’re quite poisonous. Spawnlings have nightmares about them. But I confess, I’m attracted to them.” His tentacle toyed with the lock on the cage. “You see, it is the venom of these creatures that we render into flash.”
I shuddered. The Dealer didn’t seem to notice. He continued to stroke the cage, as if hypnotized by the creature within—or as if trying to hypnotize it. “Of course, in the living creature the active substance is far more concentrated. I would imagine that one bite from the fangs of my little friend here would be the equivalent of a hundred or more normal human doses of flash. I know what that does to us—but no one, to my knowledge, has ever conducted the experiment to see what it does to humans.” All his eyes swiveled to me. “I think it’s time to do so.”
“You won’t let that thing out while you’re standing next to it. You’re bluffing.”
“Mr. Nebula, I don’t have to let it out while I’m standing next to it. This lock—” his tentacle played over it—“is now programmed to open by itself after a certain amount of time has elapsed. I won’t tell you exactly how long; that would spoil the suspense for you. However, by the time I return, I’m sure I’ll be able to observe the results of my little test.”
He started to back out; I shouted, “Wait!”
The Dealer paused. “Yes?”
“Let Meta go. I’ll sign a legal contract with you—I’ll swear I joined up with you of my own free will—”
“Mr. Nebula, the legitimacy of your contract was of concern to Qualls; it is of no concern to me. My only concern is to make sure that you stop causing me trouble. Should you survive this little test, you will never again be able to free yourself from flash dependency, which will make you much easier to control. Should you die, dissection and analysis of your tissues will provide me with information no other flashdealer has. It could lead to an improved form of the drug, which I would control. As they say on your planet, ‘data’s economic, gladeye.’ Either way, I lose nothing.” He turned three of his eyes to the door panel. “Now, I really must re-program this—”
I don’t know where the idea came from; I don’t remember having it. All I know is that as The Dealer looked away I grabbed the cage closest to me, jerked it free, and flung it at him.
He ducked, shrieking rage, all four eyes snapping toward me—but when he ducked, the cage smashed into the lock panel, and three things happened: the door slid shut, the cage shattered into a million sparkling shards—and the monstrosity it contained dropped
squarely into the middle of The Dealer’s tentacles.
I clapped my hands over my ears as he squealed, a sound of pure horror escalating into the ultrasonic. He scrabbled frantically with his tentacles, all four eyes curving inward to stare down at the creature even as it bit deep into his flesh. The Dealer’s stalk stiffened, every tentacle snapped straight out—and then they drooped, eyes staring sightlessly downward. The Dealer’s legs folded and his stalk dropped with a thump—and the creature that had bitten him scrambled down past his breathing slits and onto the floor.
The thing’s golden eyes scanned the room, seemingly ignoring us—but then Meta shifted her position, ever-so-slightly, and the eyes snapped around and locked on us. Slowly, lifting and placing each leg deliberately, the horror stalked the length of the cargo module, its brethren in the other cages watching it hungrily.
My heart raced; Meta draw a long shuddering breath. Why didn’t the big Hydra come raging in to help The Dealer? I stared at the thing on the floor and thought I could make a pretty good guess.
It still wasn’t sure we were prey. A couple of metres away it stopped. I tried not to breathe, tried to ignore all the aches and pains clamoring for my attention, tried to think of myself as a rock, a piece of metal, anything inanimate and, above all, motionless. The thing took another step toward us; halted, then moved a little closer yet. I thought about Meta behind me, and wondered which one of us would scream first.
And then, suddenly, the creature made up its mind and scuttled forward. Meta screamed and tried to climb the shelves, and the creature instantly altered course and dashed for her. “No!” I yelled. I lunged for it, fell headlong in front of it, grabbed it—and echoed Meta’s scream as its dead-white mouth snapped open and its shining black fangs sank into my wrist.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Fire raced through my veins and exploded in my head, erasing reality. The cargo module disappeared, dissolving into a narrow backstage corridor lined with banks of video monitors. Music pounded in my ears and I held a stringsynth in my hand.
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