“Premier, eh? Well, I better get this processed!”
Ricky went about his usual rounds for two days, seeing to the transfer of goods and taking account of payments made or tokens still owed. Ricky knew Boris could have others looking on from a distance, so it was critical to maintain an indifferent posture to blunt the suspicions he knew were customary for enforcers like Bartel. Journeys above to make deliveries for expectant Uppers contrasted with loud, often tense negotiations with grubby Agros or Diggers—the farmers and miners who lived in the Broadlands beyond the wire, trading food or raw materials for manufactured goods. When evening fell on the second day, Justman’s message came through as Ricky sat in his flat; the request had been approved.
With a new, intoxicating confidence, Ricky made his way back to Reese Street each morning the rest of the week, and once more as evening neared midnight. The advance hours Boris granted relieved him of most administrative fees, but also a tedious wait at the counter and useless small talk with Justman he wouldn’t miss.
Neferure seemed more relieved to see Apheru with each successive visit, but their hours were not spent only in conversation. Instead, she wanted him in her bed and an appetite for sex she did nothing to hide consumed much of their time. Ricky lived fully in those most personal, intimate moments, unable to resist her and unwilling to try, given over to every delicious and wicked demand she made. Her scent, powerful and pungent, wandered with the perfume her attendants applied in the morning, compelling him to her service without a thought. Starlight’s celebrated adherence to realistic sensory input always worked as advertised, but the effect was powerful.
Ricky decided enough time passed since his adventure out to the Zone. He stood and grabbed the bag from behind his couch, moldering and still covered in dried mud and filth from the drain trough. Satisfied Bartel wasn’t waiting, Ricky jogged up the alley, turning north toward the square; it was time to pay Elden a long-overdue visit.
As he stepped from an internal vert, Ricky followed a spotless, white corridor to the old man’s apartment, non-descript and identical to so many others. Elden Fellsbach looked up from his console when the door chime signaled a visitor, rubbing his eyes as he spoke to the automatic system.
“Open.”
The door latch released as he stood, motioning Ricky toward his sitting room and the wide, glass panels that looked across to distant, empty fields where families once lived in tiny, individual structures a century before. In that distant past, an ocean of singular houses sprawled on undulating fields between thick groves of trees. Elden’s great uncle spoke of the old territory from the earliest days of his youth when there was no such thing as the wire and Novum was a different city with a different name. That time, like Elden’s great uncle, was long-dead and with it, the strange ways of a time when people came and went without fear.
“Want something to drink?” he asked, but Ricky waved a hand and shook his head.
The old man looked tired. Creases showed on his forehead and the furrows defining pale, hollow cheeks had deepened since his last visit. Even in the comfortable, conditioned air, Elden wore an old, maroon cardigan and his left hand trembled noticeably where it hung beside his thin, tall frame. Wispy white hair, always combed back from his forehead like a dense helmet now exposed pink scalp beneath, spotted with the brown discolorations of age. Across his face, Ricky noticed, considerable gray stubble made clear that days had passed since the old man shaved, making for a disheveled appearance that was unsettling and unusual for one so conscious of a neat and tidy appearance. Ricky sat slowly, placing his bag carefully at his feet.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Of course; make yourself comfortable and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“You heard about Espinoza and Courtnall?”
Elden looked away and nodded.
“Everyone’s heard. It’s great fun for the evening news shows, but it won’t make much difference.”
Ricky ignored the poorly veiled message in Elden’s words.
“Yes, but they left something behind and I need your help.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ricky pulled the bag from his shoulder and placed it gently onto Elden’s desk, withdrawing the cloth-covered boxes slowly and deliberately.
“Have a look at these,” he said with a satisfied smile.
Elden selected one of the data chips and slid it into a display reader. When it loaded, he stopped cold—the contents were obvious and he returned it to Ricky with a frown.
“Where the hell did you get this?”
“From that old machine shop in the warehouse district where they ran their operation,” he replied with a smirk, barely able to control his excitement; “I snuck in the night they got grabbed by MPE and found it in a hiding place. I remembered it from the old days when Mister Anthony took me there. Courtnall had little secret spots all over the place, but I knew about a couple of them. They’re hard to find if you don’t know where to look, but…”
Elden shoved himself away from his desk and stood quickly. Ricky saw the alarm in his expression.
“Damn it, Richard,” he said suddenly, “you should not have done this!”
Ricky shook his head in confusion.
“Why not? Look at this stuff, Elden; there’s got to be two hundred thousand in one of those data sticks alone! They’re pre-set results for a bunch of Challenge matches that won’t even happen for another two weeks! I want to turn these, but no one down below has that kind of money so I thought you could help me find someone up here who…”
Elden waved a hand and walked toward the window.
“Take them back,” he demanded; “take these back to where you found them right now and forget about them!”
“Are you crazy? There’s more money in these boxes than all the tokens I’ve ever made! Why the hell would I take it back?”
Elden moved Ricky to a long, black couch, pausing to calm himself.
“I know this is tempting, but you’re playing with your life. You have to get them back inside that building before anyone else figures out they’re gone.”
Ricky laughed nervously.
“Anyone else? They’re in jail, Elden!”
“For the moment,” he replied, “only for the moment.”
“I saw the news vids; they’ve been charged with about twenty counts. Neither of them will ever see the light of day again! Don’t you want a piece of this?”
“No!” Elden thundered suddenly, “I want nothing to do with it!”
Ricky was determined.
“Look, I can’t vend this shit to my regular customers on the street; none of them could ever afford things like this. I’m okay with selling it off for half its real value, but I need you to check around up here and…”
“You stupid, stupid bastard, don’t you realize the danger you’re in?”
Ricky stared in silence; he’d never heard Elden use profanity in all the years they’d been friends.
“I don’t understand. I brought this stuff up here to see if you could help me find buyers, but…”
“There are no buyers, can’t you see? There never will be! No one in their right mind would go anywhere near this sort of merchandise because only a Boss would have it to begin with! Everyone in the city knows about Courtnall and Espinoza!”
“Who cares?” Ricky protested. “In a week, they’ll both be in a punishment cylinder somewhere out beyond the wire and no one will ever see them again.”
Elden smiled sadly and grasped Ricky’s shoulder.
“Did it occur to you that no one else has made a try for this stuff? Their lieutenants know exactly where these things were hidden; if those Bosses were going down to the cylinders for thirty years, don’t you think the secondary people in their organization would grab it for themselves?”
Ricky looked away as the first needles of fear began to prod him from within. Elden lowered his voice and continued, desperate to make Ricky see.
“They�
�re not going to sentence them, don’t you understand? It’s no different than the Challenge match results; the trial is already fixed and it’s only a matter of time before they’re both back on the street; every insider knows that! When Espinoza and Courtnall figure out somebody broke into that place and stole these things, it won’t take them long to send out the word. Every fence in the city will be on alert to identify the seller. When you’re finally named—and you will be named—they’ll send their soldiers to cut off pieces of your body until you bleed to death in agony!”
Ricky felt the numb reality as it slammed home from the recesses of his mind; dull, at first, then brought with a rising panic he couldn’t shake.
“But the other Bosses…”
“They’re just fishing, Richard; biding their time! They haven’t seen the prosecution’s notes, but they know what’s going to happen! They’ll find out in a day or two when the news feeds get a leak from the Magistrate’s office, and then they will all turn away—you will be exposed and alone.”
Ricky watched the image Elden’s words made in his mind until it became clear at last; a mistaken presumption the Bosses had been removed could cost him his life. No one would touch the treasures inside his bag and risk inevitable retribution, but even worse, others would find an opportunity to profit by exposing him as the thief who stole from two of the most feared criminals in the city. Anyone who named him would enjoy the gratitude of Espinoza and Courtnall and a reward irresistible to those who worked in the shadows of a cold and indifferent place where favor and murder were so frequently entwined. Rigged Challenge matches or fixed criminal trials; it was all the same and those on the wrong end would always lose.
Like a wave of freezing water rolling over him on a cold, distant shore, the panic returned; he had to move quickly to replace the stolen goods before the corruption of Novum’s courts restored Courtnall and Espinoza to freedom. Without a word, he stood quickly, stuffing the little boxes into his bag. Moments later, he waited impatiently as the vert descended slowly toward the surface, calculating a return to the warehouse with a desperate hope he was not too late to make it right. As he walked quickly from the vert, Ricky reached to tap out the numbers on his wrist comm, waiting through successive beeps until Justman answered at last.
“Reese Street…”
“Ellis, it’s Ricky Mills.”
“Oh, hello, Slider! What can we do for you?”
“Listen, I need to talk to you about my account.”
“Let me call up your records; give me a second.”
Ricky waited, tapping his foot with nervous anticipation. Through the comm link, Justman’s breathy noises and incessant humming only made worse the wait.
“Okay, Slider,” Justman said. “I have it up now.”
“I know I’ve used some of the advance time, but it was a mistake, okay?”
“A mistake?”
“Yes. I need you to cancel out the rest of the hours.”
“Well, it shows you used almost ten hours already, so…”
“I know that, but you have to cancel the other forty hours right now, understand?”
“I don’t think we can cancel the advance; when Boris approved it, your account was locked.”
“What do you mean ‘locked?’”
“Just what it says; you have to pay for those hours because advances are all guaranteed, see?”
“No, I don’t see! Look, I fucked up and asked too soon, okay? I can’t meet fifty hours like I thought I could.”
“I’m sorry, Slider, but I don’t have any way to cancel an advance order once it’s been approved. But there’s…”
Justman had gone silent.
“Ellis?”
“Hold on a second; there’s a note here.”
Ricky fidgeted and bounced one leg on the ball of his foot, seized by nervous worry. After a few moments that seemed to take forever, Justman returned.
“Slider, I got to tell you, it’s more than the original amount.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ricky demanded.
“Well, the ‘hours-used’ calculations are correct, but we got a notice the rates went up and we also had to apply the taxes, so. . .”
“When did that happen? I didn’t get any notification!”
“Oh, well yes, we send them out monthly, so you should see the increase in your next statement.”
“Ellis, you didn’t say anything about this before!”
“I just got the notice a while ago. Konstantinou tells me to apply the increase right away and leave it alone, so that’s what I do, right? I mean, after all, he does run the place for some Upper, doesn’t he?”
Ricky paused, closing his eyes as he waited for his rising temper to cool. He cleared his throat and spoke again, hoping a calm tone might help getting things sorted out.
“I can’t pay this, Ellis.”
“It won’t be so bad next month, so I wouldn’t worry about it, right?”
“Next month?”
“Konstantinou says he has to increase everyone’s fee rate by twenty percent before winter, so next month, it’s only going up another eight percent. But then, when winter comes, he’ll let us discount it back down; this is only a temporary increase, Slider! Not so bad, see?”
The numbers flashed by in Ricky’s mind so vivid, he could see them parade in front of him like a holo-display and the words poured from his mouth before he could stop them.
“Not bad? Are you kidding me? I can’t make those kinds of payments, you greedy bastard!”
“Hey! It’s no good swearing at me, Slider; this is not my decision, okay? You asked for an advance and Konstantinou approved—you know how the bosses can be if somebody doesn’t want to pay up!”
“Bullshit!” Ricky thundered. “Your cut is taken out of payment percentages, not hours used; when Boris gets an increase, so do you!”
“Okay, Slider, I understand why you’re pissed-off about this, but what can I do? If I don’t apply the taxes and fee increase, Boris will send that little murderer and his friend to find out why! What am I supposed to tell them, eh? Should I tell Bartel to just forget it? Would you like to tell him?”
There was silence until Justman spoke again, softer and with at least his idea of a sympathetic voice.
“Look, Slider, I know this is a shitty deal, and I’m sorry, but I got no other choice. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but most people just won’t stop in so often for a while, see? A few will find more tokens somewhere else, but it’s not like they’re all rich, so most of ‘em, they just won’t come out as much as they used to until the price goes back down.”
“How is that supposed to help me?” Ricky asked as the desperation came on in waves.
“When Boris sees it, he’ll ease up,” Justman answered. “After a while, you’ll be able to catch up your account and pay the taxes, too. Look, I work for Boris and he works for them—all those Uppers. They tell him what to do and he tells me; you know how it works!”
Ricky paused again, reeling with the meaning behind Justman’s words. It wasn’t only the cost he’d have to bear and the certainty he would fail to meet it. Instead, the sudden increase in fees and a tax he knew was contrived brought with it the numbing reality that time with her would suffer. When he needed to be with Neferure most, Boris Konstantinou’s greed would put more than Apheru’s position at court in jeopardy; less frequent visits would surely hurt and alienate her. He had to find more money, but the secret bundles behind the couch were no longer the answer.
“Listen to me, all right? I can’t make the payment for the rest of the hours on that advance, let alone the price increase! At least ask him if you can cancel some of it!”
“You don’t understand, Slider; I can’t ask him to do that!”
“Why not?”
“If I did, he’d fire me, or worse! You can’t get a cancelation on an advance and that’s it! I’m sorry, Slider, but you can’t.”
Ricky felt his shoulders sag as the despera
te, pounding reality pressed down upon him.
“Look, you still got about seven hours on your account that doesn’t apply to the advance; the hours are already paid for, so…”
“I have to go,” Ricky said before Justman could finish.
Above, the lights dimmed again, as if to punctuate Ricky’s miserable condition; the power grid was fading, as it often did that time of day and Ricky stood, moved by a fear he had never known. There was still time to get the stolen things back in their hiding place before anyone noticed, but he would have to hurry.
At 3:44, Ricky slipped one last time from the culvert and made his way quickly for the freight tracks; no one saw, and the pieces that would have changed his life were restored beneath the grate, safe once more inside the dank, empty machine shop where he found them a week before. His relief was immediate, but as the train slowed where it curved toward the south at the canals, another consideration invaded his thoughts, just as unwanted and miserable. Though the Bosses might never suspect, the loss of so much money he held in the palm of his hand raised the crushing possibility he could lose his Starlight account—and Neferure.
Ricky thought only of her and the likelihood he could never earn enough to pay off his debt and see the columns of Ma’at Palace once more. She wouldn’t understand and he could find no way to describe his affairs in words that would make sense; Neferure would see only his absence and it would make for her a reason to question his commitment and their future together.
Would she sour, he wondered? Could the careful plans made in the darkness by Thutmose and Senenmut override her love and steal her from him? When he ran out of tokens, Boris would send word to lock him out. Worse still, without access to the program, there was no way to influence the direction Starlight would steer her, despite Justman’s reassurances. The simulation was designed to follow only the desires of the subscriber, but absent his direction, its intuitive program would create scenarios according to its memory alone. Ricky heard the disturbing tales of others who had been forced to abandon their alternate lives for this very reason. If they didn’t interact regularly, Starlight’s vast system of plot engines might find and implement their own solutions.
When the River Ran Dry Page 6