“Well, I suppose if anyone from your team is involved, we’ll know it soon enough, and we’ll deal with that when, or if, it happens.”
We stepped back out onto the Skyway in the direction of her apartment. We had to walk for a moment to get away from any potential eavesdroppers before she asked, “What other connections do you have that might be useful to us?”
“It’s hard to say,” I responded, restraining myself from pacing on the mobile walkway. “We could spend a week of Sundays talking to every lowlife property mover in the city, before we get anywhere.” I paused a moment to think it over. “Then again, maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. I may know of a place where some of the city’s top bionics brokers get together.”
“How come this place wasn’t at the top of our list?”
“Most of the people that hang out at the BattleGrounds don’t deal in stolen goods, and they don’t have the kind of money it takes to buy a high end prototype, but there’s a small chance the woman who runs the place has heard some news.”
“Battlegrounds?”
“You’ll see when we get there. We’ll definitely have to change back to our street clothes before we go.” I took a long look at her, twisting up my mouth, thinking about what might be under her nice business suit.
“Something I can help you with?” she asked.
“I wish you had more visible tattoos,” I responded.
“My parents taught me not to judge a person by the colors of their skin.”
“This place, the people that hang out there, they’re not fond of outsiders and you look too much like an Upper. I can vouch for you, but they’ll expect you to prove yourself.”
“Prove myself? Is this going to be dangerous?”
Chapter 7
Changed and ready to proceed with our hunt, we exited the Skyway a little more than a block from the BattleGrounds. When the ballistic glass doors opened, we could already hear the heavy beats of techno-tribal music, an animalistic rhythm, a pounding heartbeat in the undergrowth of a concrete jungle. I led the way through the ignorant crowds, the whole-bodied people out for a fun night, oblivious to the invisible party happening just down the street.
“There,” I spoke to Jennifer, turning to her and tilting my head at the building on the other side of the street’s T-intersection, “inside.”
At the end of an electric avenue of bars and nightclubs sat the flat face of an old apartment building. At only fifteen floors tall, it sat inconspicuous in the shadows of taller buildings around it. Graffiti and blacked out windows allowed it to maintain an unobtrusive air, despite being three times the width of most buildings of its age, while hidden cameras kept a watchful eye from behind malfunctioning billboards on its corners.
Painted the same boring gray as the concrete walls, the front doors had a chameleon-like imperceptibility to anyone not looking for this specific building. Even the numbers beside the door had been stripped off, leaving nothing but holes and a dash of rust on the uninviting surface. I led as we pushed our way inside and closed the doors behind us.
Inside, we found what could have been the front office of any apartment complex. On a faded couch to our left sat a young woman in a T-shirt and jeans reading a newspaper held in bionic hands. To the right was a wall of small mailboxes where an older man slowly sorted through a stack of bills, opening none of them. His left leg squeaked slightly when he shifted his weight.
The back wall of the room was made of thick glass, muffling the music and blacked out to prevent anyone who wandered in from seeing what was beyond. In front of it sat a young man with his feet propped up on a desk. Laser sounds came from the sideways phone in is hands as the twenty year old bit his lip with the intensity of his battle. He didn’t look up as we approached.
“Hey, Jackson,” he said, before intensely mashing the blaster button.
“Billy,” I responded. “You’ve increased security.” I made a pointed glance toward the two people actively pretending to ignore us.
“Shit hit the fan, man. Marshall security is roaming the streets. Cops increased patrols. We even had a crane fly over the courtyard last night.”
“A crane?” Jennifer asked.
“Police drones,” I answered.
“Origami bots, girl,” Billy added. “Damn things are a nuisance.”
“Is the owner around?” I asked, finally.
As if on cue, glass double doors swung wide. A wash of heavy beat music flooded in, spilling around the lithe form of our entering host. The short pleated skirt of a white strapless dress swayed over designer legs as she sashayed into the room. She flashed a broad smile while the doors closed on the dense crowd behind her. Stretching bionic arms toward me, azure light shone through her translucent nails. I took her hands in mine and she kissed my cheeks.
“Jack,” she asked, “where have you been? The crowd has been asking for you.” She didn’t give me the chance to answer before Jennifer caught her attention. “Oh my, who is this?”
“Dana Marrow,” I said, “this is Jennifer, a friend of mine.”
Dana swept a strand of long, pink hair from her eyes. “Friend” she asked, “or friend?”
“Friend,” Jennifer said, offering her hand. “We haven’t known each other long.”
Dana took her hand and drew her close, gazing down at her from nearly a foot above. “As charming as he is, you’ll be friends before long.”
Jennifer adeptly turned the conversation. “I love your nails,” she said, looking at them closer. “Who’s your mechanic?”
The nails shifted from an azure to the color of strawberries. “Oh look,” Dana said with a giggle, “you’ve got me blushing. I’ll introduce you to my guy if I see him around. So, what are you bringing to this party?”
“You mean my bionics? AlterBionics legs, top of the line.”
“Oh, I cannot wait to see those in action. I hope you’re up for a race.”
Jennifer tilted her head. “Yeah, Jackson said that I would have to prove myself somehow before I got in.”
“So, you’ve never been here before? That’s so sweet! Jackson brought you here to impress you.” Dana winked at me before turning her attentions back to Jennifer. “There are a number of bionics only competitions, but we’ll get to that soon enough. I want to be clear about what this place is. There is entertainment to be had, but primarily, this is a refuge. It has to be kept secret. You tell no one you were here, or what goes on here. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“And anyone you may want to bring later, they have to get approved. Okay?”
“No problem.”
“Excellent!” Dana hooked an arm around Jennifer’s waist and swung the other out in a sweeping gesture toward the door. “Let’s meet the crowd.”
Dana again flung the doors wide and stepped beyond. All around, people drank, talked, and even danced to the music. Bionic limbs of every kind surrounded us. Everything from the priciest custom jobs to the cheapest of knockoffs were represented. Business men and women in tailored suits stood shoulder to shoulder with people dressed in thrift store scraps who paid their rent in labor.
A main stage appeared in the center of the large courtyard as the crowd parted to let us through. Tattooed burlesque dancers atop the wooden construction finished their set and blew kisses to the crowd. They gave a final twirl on bionic legs as stagehands gathered up the discarded costumes. Dana and one of the young women exchanged cheek kisses as they met on the stairs. The other winked at me and gently brushed my hand with her fingertips as she passed. I felt my face warm with the subtle flattery.
I kept my head down as I followed Dana up the steps with Jennifer close behind, but once the crowd saw my face, the chanting began. “JUNK-MAN, JUNK-MAN, JUNK-MAN!”
The words echoed off the surrounding walls of the building. Windows began to open, their residents joining the call. An eight year old boy on the fifth floor, up past his bedtime, clapped plastic hands with delight. I smiled with th
e embarrassment of it all, and lifted a fist into the air, breaking the chant into chaotic applause.
Dana adjusted a microphone earpiece and spread her arms, palms turned upward in a questioning gesture. “Oh,” she began, her voice carried through speakers in the far corners, “so you noticed?” Laughter rolled through her audience. “Yes, that’s right. Tonight we are joined by the infamous, impossible, and down right charming… Junkman Jack!” A long applause erupted from the crowd. “But first!” Dana took Jennifer’s hand to lead her to the center of the stage. “We have a new friend, eager to prove herself, with the best AlterBionics has to offer!”
Men and women of the crowd began chanting “SHOW US, SHOW US!”
Jennifer gave me a narrow look with fiery brown eyes. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I forgot about that part.”
“Standard rules,” Dana said, covering the microphone. “People come for the tech porn.”
With a short sigh, Jennifer unlaced her boots and kicked them off, followed quickly by her pants. The crowd cheered at her polymer thigh muscles protected behind white ceramic plating. Artificial calves flexed to push away the pile of leather and cloth as she stepped forward on perfectly crafted feet, moving like she was born with them. High durability pads on the ball and toes of the feet meant that the shoes she wore weren’t actually necessary, but much like the boxer briefs she was wearing, it was probably more about personal preference than pure pragmatism.
She weathered their cheers with a smile, but to me she whispered, “This had better be worth it.”
“Do we have any challengers?” Dana asked the crowd.
“I’ll challenge her,” came a man’s voice from the group.
As he stepped forward, his six foot tall frame grew until he stood a full head above everyone else. Stopping in front of the crowd, a sneer came to his face as he crossed freckled arms. The blue and green tartan of his kilt was covered by neither a belt nor a sporran, I assumed to avoid any encumbrance of his legs while he ran.
Built into the tibia of each of the man’s legs was a hydraulic cylinder, extendable to roughly a foot, giving him not only a longer stride, but likely also more power when triggered with the right timing. His legs had been designed around this feature, with sturdy feet able to channel the additional force more efficiently into the ground, and dense artificial muscles in his thighs capable of protecting his spine from the shock. Having gotten everyone’s attention, he lowered himself back down to normal height, the hydraulic rod shins sliding back into their housings.
“You don’t have to win,” I whispered to Jennifer as she handed me her jacket and scarf. “You just have to put on a good show.”
“Maybe so,” she responded, “but I want to win.” She gave me a toothy grin before announcing to the crowd, “I accept!”
This space was large for a courtyard, but it was far from an Olympics sized track. Nonetheless, around the outside rim of the space Ms. Marrow had installed a strip of asphalt wide enough to accomodate two runners without forcing them to trip over one another. Jennifer and the kilted man exchanged competitive pleasantries before taking their positions at the starting line.
Jennifer crouched low, fingertips on the white line, eyes forward. There were no starting blocks for the racers, but with bionic legs they were unnecessary. If it were me out there, I’d be lucky to be facing the right direction, but as Jennifer adjusted her back leg a half inch toward the center and spread the toes of her leading foot, I got the impression she had been in a foot race more recently than I.
“The rules are simple,” came Dana’s voice over the speakers as she stood, ankles crossed, in front of the competitors. “Go on green. One lap around the courtyard, and no dirty tricks. First one back to the line wins.” Dana held her hands high, her nails turning white.
The crowd fell silent, as the master of ceremonies allowed the tension to build. A smile touched the edge of her mouth. Her eyes closed as she took in a breath and released it through thick, red lips.
When her hands dropped, the lights under her nails turning green, and the racers were off like a shot. Hydraulics engaged and the kilted man took an early lead, tartan fabric flaring behind him, proving to the crowd that he wore it in the traditional style. Across pale cheeks in fine calligraphy was tattooed the phrase “You Lose.”
Jennifer kept pace a few feet behind him, but as they neared the first corner, he slowed to take the hard left while she sped up and leaned right. My fist clenched with the fear that she, somehow, had not seen the wall of thick blacked out glass in front of her. With her right shoulder inches from the wall, she neared the curved corner. In that brief second, I began preparing excuses for Mr. Wright.
As she moved into the corner at speeds beyond what flesh and bone legs could ever manage, a foot left the ground and planted itself on the glass wall. High density rubber pads held solid traction as she took another step and another before returning to the asphalt without ever slowing. Had I blinked, I would have missed it all.
As one, the crowd gasped in disbelief as she took the lead. Wide eyes took seconds to process what they had seen before a wild cheer overcame them. On the fifth floor, the eight year old boy repeatedly slapped the edge of his window in unabashed glee.
The kilted man refused to give up. In the straightaway, piston powered legs closed the gap and inched him out ahead of her. Pumping artificial muscles to their limit, reaching with every step, Jennifer made him work to take back what he had lost. He was a half stride ahead of her when they reached the next corner, him slowing to take it while she rounded the outside, plastic feet thumping glass, never breaking pace.
Again she came out ahead, leaning in deep to hold it. He pressed hard to catch up, a snarl spreading across his face. He pushed to the outside, coming in close, freckled arms brushing hers. I saw what he was doing.
Still a fraction of a second behind her lead, he aimed to kill her strategy by keeping his body between her and the wall. He’d have to take the corner wider than he preferred, but he could make that up in the straightaway. It was a decent plan, but did him no good.
With a mind as quick as her bionics, Jennifer timed her competitor’s movements, darting across his path between the long strides of his legs. Though he gnashed teeth at the audacity of her maneuver, he moved to the left to avoid tripping over her. He slowed into the corner as she took the wall. Three strides up off of the the asphalt and she came back out into the lead.
He didn’t have a chance, but he tried. Pressing hard, he came close enough to trip her, but he played it fair. By the final corner, she was a full stride ahead. She rounded the outside. A fraction of a second later he slowed to corner, and never sped back up.
Applause rose up from a breathless crowd as her stride took her over the white line. A few steps more slowed her enough to stop and turn, reaching out a hand toward the kilted man. He took it with a smile and a winded laugh.
With her pants and boots in hand, I said, “You keep that up and you’re going to end up with a nickname, too.”
“Well,” she said, breathless and smiling, “I hope it’s better than Junk Man.”
I returned her smile. “That’s Junk-Man Jack, if you don’t mind, and it’s a term of endearment.”
When the crowd was done patting her on the back, she began slipping her pants back on. “So, then the name’s not meant to make fun of your arm?” she inquired.
“No, not really. Like the lady said, this place is a refuge. Repo men aren’t allowed in here, so a lot of the tenants are people on the run from the Combine. With no money, it’s hard to fix that junk when it breaks down, but after word got around about a dude that built an arm for himself, my invite to Battlegrounds came pretty quick.”
“I bet it did. So, you’re like a local mechanic?”
“Oh, I don’t do anything worth getting paid for, just replacing or substituting some parts here and there, as long as the owner doesn’t mind the components coming from the junkyard.”
“That must be a
valuable skill on the ground level.”
“Less than you might think. Most of these people got their bionics through medical insurance or straight cash, so they can afford their own repairs. Yeah, this place has a few refugees, but quite a variety get invites to this party.”
I gestured toward an older man and a younger woman having a conversation in the nearest corner. Each sported a modified AlterBionics arm with a halo of light shining from between the artificial muscles. His was blue, while hers was green.
“Those two are lawyers for the county,” I said. “She’s a public defender and he’s an assistant district attorney.” I pointed to a leather vested man with a thick red beard, ordering a drink at the bar behind the stage. “That guy with the pinstripe flames, he owns a Harley shop on the north end of the city.”
I gestured to another man standing in the middle of the crowd, looking at the sky above. As we watched, he lifted hand carved wooden arms to the sky, spreading fingers so detailed that each one had a unique print.
“That one’s an artist,” I continued. “He has a gallery above the Skyway, but refuses to live up there. Says his muse is the soil of the the Earth. He can be a bit odd, but if your brain needs a good workout, get him talking about Davinci.”
“What about that one?” Jennifer asked, pointing with her eyes toward a lone man leaning against the far wall, solid black bionic arms crossed in front of him.
“Oh, that one,” I said, not looking directly at the man, “I can’t say anything for certain, but the rumor is that he’s a hitman. They say he only takes money from Uppers to kill other Uppers.” I gave her a pointed look. “He’s a popular guy, here.”
“He’s not the only one,” came Dana’s voice as a bionic arm wrapped around my shoulders in a hug. “I think it’s time you tell me why you’re really here, Jack.” She pulled in close to my ear. “And why you brought this Upper into my home.”
Under the Skyway (Skyway Series Book 1) Page 6