“You can spend it with another hustler any time you want, Xavier.”
Antonelli blinked in disbelief, but Ricky continued without a pause.
“Some of these items, especially the smaller ones, can’t be bought on credit; I have to pay up-front or no sale!”
“What’s that to me?” Antonelli snapped, hissing at a near whisper so that others wouldn’t hear.
“I don’t have any of this stuff in my inventory,” Ricky fired back; “I have to pre-pay! If you don’t want it after all…”
Antonelli’s intolerance was boiling over. To his way of thinking, all hustlers were opportunists and swindlers who lived for the chance to take an innocent man for all they could get. He had little use for Flatwalkers in general, but it was especially galling when their ill-mannered demands spilled out across the floor in front of normal people—good people.
“How much, damn you?”
“Two hundred and twenty gets you back to neutral,” Ricky answered at last, “plus six hundred to cover the list.”
“I’ve always paid my account on time, every month!”
“I know you have, but this is not a question of your account.”
“Then why are you pushing for it early?”
“These things are going to be hard enough to find,” Ricky lied, “and I have obligations from my other customers; I can’t use somebody else’s money!”
Ricky waited while Antonelli processed the demand—and his willingness to meet it. Beyond the suspect appearance it made, there was no special risk in being seen with a Flatwalker, at least from the perspective of Behavior Regulators who kept close tabs on such comings and goings, particularly among the Uppers. Antonelli knew few, if any, would complain about it and surely none of his neighbors who also traded secretly against rule and policy with street hustlers. Still, the abrupt tone of a common Flatwalker in public could not be excused; Antonelli had a place in society to consider, after all.
“All right, Slider,” he said in a voice dripping with contempt, “I’ll send down a thousand this evening, but understand this; if you come at me like you’re some kind of high and mighty commissioner ever again, I will make your life a worse option than hell!”
Ricky smiled and cocked his head to one side, unmoved by a threat both knew was hollow.
“On second thought, keep your money, Xavier; I’m sure you can find a better deal if you try.”
He turned suddenly for the vert, keeping to the right and out of the traffic flow of Uppers trying to make it back to work before the one o’clock siren, but Antonelli’s silent tug at an elbow stopped him.
“All right, damn it, you win! I said I’ll make the payment; what more do you want?”
Ricky moved close and lowered his voice.
“I don’t need your account, Xavier; I have plenty more just like it in every Sector of the city. Threaten me again and you can find this shit on your own, understand?”
Antonelli looked away, held in the place between his outrage and the effort it would take to find and cultivate another provider. He wanted desperately to thunder out his frustration and distaste for the likes of Ricky Mills, but despite the embarrassment he would suffer by capitulating, the Regulators would notice if he went searching for a new hustler. It was better to apologize and avoid being exposed.
“Oh all right! I’m very sorry, okay?”
The disingenuous tone didn’t matter to Ricky; a point had been made and accepted. He nodded silently and walked quickly toward the lifts. With fewer descending than those going up, they stopped only a few times until at last, Ricky went quickly to the transit station and a ride back to Sector 4.
“High and mighty,” he muttered with a sneer.
Antonelli’s bluster and severe tone made it all the more enjoyable to connive an extra six hundred Ricky knew perfectly well was needless for the transactions he would make. An Upper’s poorly concealed hostility toward street people was hardly surprising, but there were limits to what he would accept, especially from one who so often ignored the strident and controlling regulations applied to all who lived in comfort above the clouds. Hypocrisy came so easily to them, he thought quietly, and some deserved it when the opportunity to take advantage presented itself.
Ricky moved on to the other customers, just as intent on prying out their money ahead of schedule. It was still early, but Pradesh would be the next stop; he was likely at the freight station down near the southern wire, overseeing his agents who waded through cargo manifests in a dark, cluttered office where land trains passed through on their circuit between the sectors. Unlike most Uppers, the diminutive, reserved man chose to visit the surface on a consistent, predictable schedule and watch over his operations personally. Ricky found him on a rust-streaked loading dock, pointing laborers dramatically toward a delivery van as if his oversight was important to the process.
As he had done with Antonelli, a cautionary tale of delayed service unless pre-payment was made worked well enough to compel the token transfer without complaint. Once finished with Pradesh, Ricky found Perreault and Markley in their turn. It would take the better part of the afternoon to navigate across three sectors, but between them—and the money Antonelli would transfer that night—Ricky would have more than enough to pay for the hours he so badly needed with Neferure.
At 6:30, the sun dipped beneath the spires of mega-towers enough so that shadows competed with shafts of light angling sharply across the streets east of the city. As he knew they would, Perreault and Markley paid their tabs with only annoyed expressions; it was far better to settle than complain when both knew Slider had the connections (and discretion) no other hustler could match. Markley, the self-styled aristocrat who deliberately ignored the truth of his humble, illegitimate beginnings, made a minor fuss about the accounting numbers until he relented and settled his bill.
Payments were carried out with precision and few words until Ricky’s business was concluded in the late afternoon hours. Hidden and often illegal, trade in those shadowy corners went on unabated for decades and his evening’s work was no different. It took longer than he hoped, but there was still plenty of time. Ricky smiled, knowing the Starlight theaters ran 24 hours, catering to many who preferred going under cover of darkness in the absurd misperception their visits would go unnoticed. No one cared either way, but for some, the illusion of anonymity was important.
Reese Street Theater was Ricky’s favorite, if only for the newness and comfort of its experience cocoons, upgraded just weeks before. It felt good as he rounded the corner and jogged across the intersection at 12th Avenue, skillfully dodging land traffic until he reached the doors as they parted automatically. Cool, conditioned air pouring downward from vents high above the building’s entrance brought a moment of relief from the oppressive heat as he turned quickly for the lobby where other customers waited at a high counter to pay their fees.
He neither liked nor disliked Ellis Justman, the facility’s long-time manager, but Ricky preferred to avoid the customary and annoying banter so common at other Starlight theaters; at Reese Street, he could log-in and one of the attendants would show him to his cocoon without comment. At last it was time and in a few moments, he would be with her again.
Slowly, with the sensation people feel when they wake in a strange place after an overnight journey, the images cleared and gave way once more to the familiar—soothing and comfortable to ease the spirit. Thick mud along the shoreline smelled fresh and wet, while beyond, fields gifted the air with a scent of crops nearing harvest. Closer still, goat meat roasting on a dozen fires aside huts near the ancient river made for a pleasing, delicious aroma that seemed to welcome him back in the quiet and calm of early evening.
As mighty Ra descended beyond the necropolis on the western shore of the Nile, Ricky waited atop the steps of Ma’at Palace, now in the form of his software-generated alter ego; the soldier, Apheru. By the alchemy of the Starlight adventure simulation’s programming, he was a different man, living another
existence; a warrior in the days of ancient Egypt and nothing like the struggling hustler trying to make his way in a harsh and indifferent urban expanse. Though his body lay still and quiet inside an experience cocoon, Ricky—Apheru—stood in a faraway place, both in distance and time, as though he had walked there three thousand years before.
Unlike a cheap video in the arcades on Ninth Street, Starlight made a second life as real and tangible as his own, but it was so much more; beyond the notice of others, it offered the chance to be something better. The simulation—and the moment—resumed from where he left off days before, but he knew the program’s intuitive plot engine would advance the storyline automatically in his absence.
A gentle, evening breeze wandered slowly through the city streets of Thebes, enveloping the royal quarters where the flames from delicate oil lamps danced and flickered in ornate, copper sconces. She was always late, but that truth carried no importance to one so much in love; the reward of Neferure’s touch made any delay pass unnoticed. An azure sky was especially beautiful on a night when only the quiet moments alone with her mattered, promising much-needed relief from battle and the duties expected of Pharaoh’s most skilled soldier. In the house of Hatshepsut, Apheru enjoyed the special attention and welcome available only to those most close to the divine lady, already preparing for sleep and content to leave nocturnal pursuits of affection and desire to the young.
The priests, persistent in their duty to direct the life of a princess in accordance with tradition, were absent; withdrawn discretely on her order so that she and Apheru could be truly alone. Perched at the end of a slender, teak peg set firmly into the stone wall, a favorite falcon preened in the dancing shadows, waiting too for his leave to sleep. At last, she appeared from behind sheer fabric curtains dyed in splendid shades of green and blue, moving effortlessly toward him with a smile so magical and captivating, Apheru felt the tingle along his spine when she reached for him. Princess Neferure, daughter and only child of Pharaoh Hatshepsut, held Apheru at an arm’s length, turning her head to one side playfully as she fought a compulsion to grin.
“And now,” she began, “you must tell me, my love; how could it be that so many days have passed since last you came to my chambers? Is there another, tempting your spirit and beckoning from some hot and empty place far to the south? Should I worry that a beautiful rival has captivated you?”
Apheru smiled at the notion, easing her gently toward an ornate, cedar settee swarming with pillows.
“I’m sorry, Princess; I’ve been so busy.”
“Oh?” she replied as she moved his hand to her waist. “Busy with the Ethiopians, or have the masters who rule from the strange place where you spend so much of your time delayed you once more?”
“There are many obligations that won’t wait, Princess; I cannot turn away from my responsibilities,” he replied with a reassuring smile.
“The ambassadors from across the sea who wait for an audience with my mother have no knowledge of this great metropolis that spawned you, yet it keeps you from me. Tell me, my beloved captain; are you growing weary of my affection?”
Apheru let his fingers play through her hair, soft as the finest silk and pleasing to the touch. He leaned close and traced the curve of her ear with his lips, speaking softly in a whisper that belonged only to her.
“You know that’s not true. There will never be a time when I could tire of this; no one could ever replace you in my heart.”
“So,” she replied with a coy smile, “may we presume you still belong to me, and I to you?”
“It will always be so, Princess,” he answered gently; “always.”
She moved him to her bed, drawing the curtains behind them with an obvious, telling smile. In her eyes, the fire of a need only Apheru could satisfy returned, arousing him at once as she tugged at his tunic with growing desperation that only made him want her more. Outside, the breezes ebbed beneath a vast field of stars and soon, only the sounds of urgent passion broke the silence where a princess to the throne of Egypt and her lover shuddered and groaned in unison, together again.
Above the palace, lonely Khonsu had risen at last—brilliant and silver—watching over the kingdom where it slept as he traced his wide arc across the sky in the slow, imperceptible journey made only by the gods. Afterward, they lay close together, spent and glistening in the flickering lamplight. He regarded her naked form for a while, letting his eyes play along her curves in admiration like a precious statuette in a royal gallery. As he always did, Apheru reached for a pitcher of cool water and poured a hand into a tall, golden cup. He sipped twice before offering it to Neferure, careful not to spill.
She took it and drank deeply, leaving only drops and Apheru refilled it quickly as she knelt on the wide bed and took his hands in hers.
“It seems you have been a topic of discussion these last days,” she said with mock indifference.
“Oh?” he replied cautiously, “Who would speak of me in this grand and honored place?”
“Pharaoh and General Nehkbet,” she answered quickly.
“I hope I have not disappointed them.”
Neferure paused, merely to heighten the drama, but at last she relented.
“You could never disappoint them. As it was recounted to me by the General this very morning, my mother has decided to give her attention to the question of your status as an approved suitor to my hand!”
The excitement was clear in her voice, like a child suddenly permitted to reveal a special and delightful secret. Apheru grinned, but he recovered so as not to be thought of as one who expected the news or believed himself entitled to its meaning.
“Pharaoh discussed this with the General?”
“She did, and he agreed; your position at court can now be established and declared.”
“Tell me, Princess, does this please you?”
“Of course it does! Do you not hear the voice of my heart in these words?”
It was Apheru’s turn to tease.
“I suppose so, but…”
Neferure threw his hands aside with a laugh before leaping once more into his arms, locking hers firmly around his neck.
“You should be more grateful, Captain! Once it has been announced, we needn’t confine our meetings to these hidden moments when the whole of the Kingdom slumbers. After we wed, you and I can take our pleasure together beside the pools with Ra himself looking on from above; no one would dare to speak against it!”
He kissed her gently and cradled her face in his palms.
“When will we know?”
“They would not say,” she answered, but her expression turned suddenly.
“Princess?”
She laid her head softly on Apheru’s shoulder, lacing her fingers behind him to lock their embrace and defend against the torment he could hear in her tone.
“The priests do not agree,” she whispered.
He knew what it meant.
“Thutmose.”
She nodded in silence, but Apheru spoke the words she could not.
“They still believe our union would injure Pharaoh’s bloodline.”
“My mother will decide, but the priests—and Senenmut in particular—still favor my cousin.”
“Senenmut should take care,” Apheru declared, “there are many who suspect his influence on Pharaoh’s decisions are more than those of an advisor. If the noblemen fear his actions are made from selfish intent, he may find himself on the wrong end of a palace guard’s spear; they are pledged to protect Pharaoh, even at the risk of offending her. You are certain General Nekhbet agrees with my nomination as your chosen suitor?”
“Yes,” she replied, “and he made clear his preference to Pharaoh.”
“Thutmose has been an honored soldier far longer than I,” Apheru continued; “perhaps his candidacy will be considered with favor on that count alone.”
“That is merely a pretense,” she sneered; “a carefully placed detail Senenmut hopes will sway my mother’s decision.�
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“Why does he resent my application?” Apheru asked in exasperation, “I’ve never given him cause!”
“Thutmose is poisoned with jealous envy because he regards my womb as his possession by right as my cousin. He has never enjoyed it and he never will.”
“And Senenmut? He is neuter in all respects; there are no such interests for a eunuch, regardless of position.”
“His concern is political, and because you are…”
He finished her thought.
“Foreign.”
“He opposes your interest because you are not high-born of this Kingdom, nor of our family,” Neferure replied sadly, “and that is more important to Senenmut than my love for you, or your heroic service to Pharaoh and Egypt.”
“I’ve met and defeated adversaries far worse and more determined than him…”
“Do not underestimate Senenmut, Apheru; he will challenge any threat to our traditions without regard for consequence. He works tirelessly to gain my mother’s ear, but the priests already have his.”
“At least the General is with us,” said Apheru, but she could hear the ring of despair and resignation in his voice.
“When do you leave for Canaan?” she asked.
“In three days’ time,” he replied.
She moved closer and said, “They will come to regret their foolish arrogance, and it will be your chariot they see when the General’s army sweeps through them like a great blade; my mother will hear of the exploits and the name trumpeted at court upon your return will be Apheru. Thutmose can do nothing to change that!”
He reached for her once more.
“As long as I have your love and belief in me, nothing else matters. I admire and respect Thutmose, but the thought of you in his arms…”
She placed a single finger to his lips.
“Yours are the only arms that interest me.”
The black egg-shaped cocoon’s status display blinked amber as the program returned to its hold position, already calculating scenarios and adjusting scripts for the time it would be called upon again. The experience gallery’s lights remained dim where three dozen other cocoons sat in neat rows. Some were occupied by clients, but others waited empty to take a Starlight subscriber through to another world—a different life.
When the River Ran Dry Page 2