The Song of Phaid the Gambler

by Mick Farren

  Phaid worked up his best expression of innocence.

  'I don't know what she has.'

  Mariba wasn't convinced.

  'You sure as hell'd like to find out.'

  'I don't know what you have, either.'

  Mariba's pout was still there. If anything, it had turned more truculent.

  'You want to find out about that, too?'

  Phaid spread his hands.

  'I can't think of a better way to spend the next few hours.'

  Mariba abruptly turned skittish.

  'I'm not sure.'

  'What aren't you sure about?'

  She peered at him from beneath drooping eyelids.

  'What's your name?

  'Phaid.'

  'Phaid.'

  She rolled the word slowly and thoughtfully around her tongue, along with a generous hit from the bottle. As though unable to make up her mind, she tried it again.

  'Phaid. No hyphen?'

  'No hyphen.'

  Suddenly she giggled happily. It seemed the agony of indecision had passed.

  'Okay Phaid. Let's go. We are two commoners who can rut together and not care what the bloody aristos and courtiers think.'

  Chapter 11

  'So what do we do now?'

  Phaid and Ben-e were standing in the grand concourse of the Chrystianaville line terminal, letting the milling crowds eddy around them. The terminal was arguably one of the most magnificent buildings in the city. It was certainly one of the tallest. The city lay in a wide bowl, surrounded on three sides by high mountains. These effectively sheltered it from the worst violence of the weather, but it also meant that the line came into the town at an incredibly high level and, rather than build miles of extra track to allow the trains to descend to the streets in a shallow, curving spiral, the marikhs had extended their pylons upwards until, in the centre of the city, they were level with the tops of the tallest towers. The narrow spans that supported the weight of the trains ran dead straight over the streets and buildings, almost invisible to the naked eye, until they vanished into the huge sphere at the top of the skyscraper terminal.

  With an ever open eye to a spinoff profit, the marikhs hadn't contented themselves with leaving the Chrystiana­ville pylons as simple, hulking monoliths of solid stone. That might be all right for the open country, but in the heart of the city, the pylons occupied valuable real estate and the marikhs had turned to transforming them into some of Chrystianaville's most impressive buildings. They were honeycombed with apartments, offices, restaurants, concert halls and shopping centres. The city's indoor zoo even had its home in the middle sections of one of the pylons nearest the mountains.

  Phaid hated the zoo. It reminded him too much of a prison for animals rather than a place for enjoyment or relaxation. Phaid had never considered himself particular­ly receptive to the feelings of other creatures, but the overpowering sense of frustration and misery that came from the caged animals had been so great that, after a single initial visit, he had been unable to return to the place.

  The pylons may have been awe inspiring but the terminal itself both dwarfed and outclassed them. The trains ran into the vast sphere at the very top of the structure. The sphere housed the concourse, the booking halls and waiting areas. It also contained the workshops and service hangars that nobody but the marikhs ever saw.

  The sphere was supported by four huge stylised figures, monstrous stone giants that bowed under the weight of the gleaming steel and glass sphere. Although Phaid didn't know for sure, he assumed that they had to be the biggest pieces of sculpture anywhere in the world. Their granite muscles strained and their faces were contorted into hideous grimaces, as though the effort of holding up the sphere was almost beyond their endurance. The average height of the buildings around these giants scarcely came up to their waists. In all of Chrystianaville, the only structure that even attempted to challenge the overblown grandeur of the line terminal was the Presidential Palace itself, with its turrets, spires, flying buttresses and gruesomely fanged and clawed gargoyles. The Palace, however, was intricate and fussy, an over complicated confection as opposed to the line terminal's clean sweeps of pure architectural fantasy.

  Phaid had never quite understood why a people so insular and self effacing as the marikhs had decided to make their line's busiest terminal into an unnecessarily fanciful wonder of the world. In all other things, they exhibited an austere practicality and almost total absence of the kind of ego that could give birth to such a creation. Could it be that this was the single, incredible flourish that satisfied all their needs for self aggrandisement? If anyone knew for sure, Phaid had never heard about it.

  Not that the stone giants were a totally indulgent decoration. According to the most reliable sources, they were also honeycombed with the biggest static colony of marikhs anywhere on the planet. Once again, though, it was a place that was totally closed to outsiders.

  Right at that moment, Phaid had a lot more to worry about than either architecture or the workings of the marikh collective consciousness. Exciting as both the grand concourse and line terminal might be, he was back in Chrystianaville, the hub of civilisation and he had to decide what to do first. When Ben-e didn't respond to his question, he repeated it.

  'So what do we do now?'

  'I-suggest-that-we-should-descend-to-street-level.'

  'I know that, dummy.'

  Ben-e regarded him with glowing sensors.

  'I-see-no-reason-why-you-should-insult-me.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'That-is-okay-why-don't-we-proceed-to-the-drop-tubes?'

  At the mention of the drop tubes, Phaid's stomach suddenly fluttered. He'd been away from the city for so long that he'd forgotten about drop tubes. He smiled nervously at Ben-e.

  'Maybe we should wait around a bit longer and see if Makartur shows up after all.'

  As always, Ben-e's metal face and equally metal voice were both expressionless. Phaid knew that the contempt he felt being beamed at him was in his imagination, but it still made him squirm.

  'Let's wait a while longer, huh?'

  'I-have-already-told-you-that-Makartur-left-the-train-before-we-did. He-was-one-of-the-first-off-it-appeared-that-he-wanted-nothing-to-do-with-either-of-us.'

  Phaid looked intently at his boots.

  'Yeah, well, we ain't in that much of a hurry, are we?'

  'Do-you-have-some-fear-of-drop-tubes?'

  'Of course not.' Phaid continued to avoid the android's sensors. 'There have been disasters, though.'

  'Only-when-human-techs-have-attempted-makeshiit-service-on-the-machines-everyone-knows-that-only-androids-are-capable-of-servicing-drop-tubes.'

  'So maybe humans have been servicing these tubes.'

  'It-wouldn't-matter. All-service-operations-here-are-carried-out-by-the-marikhs-and-they-are-equally-as-qualified-as-androids.'

  'Yeah, but . . .'

  'Shall-we-proceed?'

  'Are you getting impatient?'

  'I-am-not-capable-of-that.'

  'So what's the rush?'

  'If-you-are-afraid-of-the-drop-tubes-we-can-wait-for-a-while-I-scarcely-see-the-point-there-is-no-other-way-to-reach-the-lower-levels.'

  'It's not that I'm afraid. It's just that . . .'

  'Just-what?'

  Phaid shrugged. 'I don't know. I guess it's that moment when you have to step off into empty space. It ain't natural. It gets to me.'

  'I-can-assure-you-that-it-is-in-fact-perfectly-natural. If-you'd-like-I-could-explain-the-mathematics-to-you.'

  'I don't give a damn about the mathematics.'

  'Very-few-humans-do-anymore.'

  'Do you wonder at it?'

  Phaid could hear the pitch of his own voice starting to squirm in the direction of hysteria. He took a deep breath and did his best to get a grip on himself. Everyone had to die sometime.

  'Okay, let's proceed, as you like to put it.'

  'Very-well."

  The little android set off at a brisk pace. Phaid tight­
ened his grip on his bag and followed him somewhat more reluctantly.

  Phaid wasn't alone in his anxiety. There were many humans who feared the null gravity shafts that allowed them to fall many storeys without harm. Even in the ancient, legendary days when high technology was com­monplace, they hadn't been popular. The idea of stepping out into empty space was so alien to human nature that only a limited number had actually been put into commis­sion. The handful that had survived to Phaid's time had been the cause of a number of tragic accidents involving multiple fatalities. Techs, without even the knowledge of the basic principles behind the workings, had attempted to replace worn or malfunctioning parts. Instead of impro­ving the tubes, they had caused complete breakdowns that killed or injured everyone using them.

  As the death toll mounted, drop tubes were shut down, one by one, and replaced by less complicated lifts and escalators. In Chrystianaville, the ones at the line terminal were the only tubes that hadn't killed anyone in living memory, but still Phaid was painfully apprehensive.

  As he started down the shallow slope that led to the tube itself, Phaid spotted Dreen a short distance in front of him. The small, sinister man paused in the act of stepping off the rim of the tube. He turned and smiled directly at Phaid. Again Phaid had the unpleasant feeling that the encounter had been somehow planned or stage managed. Before he had time to make any kind of response, Dreen had fallen away into empty space.

  Phaid was now thoroughly demoralised. The combina­tion of the chill that Dreen always left behind and fear of the drop tube made the next few seconds acutely un­pleasant. He reached the rim of the tube and looked down. That was a bad mistake. The shaft seemed bottom­less. It went down and down forever. Phaid hesitated. His palms had started to sweat and parts of him were lobbying in favour of panic. Ben-e had already stepped into space and was dropping away below him. Phaid shut his eyes and, still certain that he was going to fall to his death, followed.

  Physically, there was nothing nasty about descending through a drop tube. A soft breeze blew up from below and there was a sensation of drifting gently downwards. The problems were all psychological. Millions of years of inherited survival instincts screamed out that something extremely unnatural was going on. Nerves jangled, sto­machs twisted and the sub-conscious loudly demanded either ground to stand on or a branch to swing from.

  Phaid attempted opening his eyes, but it only made matters worse. He shut them again and tried the time honoured trick of thinking about something else. An easy subject to fix on was the girl Mariba from the night before. To a degree, he still felt rumpled from their drunken encounter.

  She had turned out to be as lascivious as she had described herself. She was so deftly experienced that Phaid felt as though he was a partner in some practised routine. At one point, she had persuaded Phaid to tie her wrists with a strip of blue chiffon torn from her clothes. She had fallen to her knees, submissive but at the same time challenging him to do his worst.

  Phaid wasn't sure if it was the booze, but somehow, despite the girl's flamboyant expertise, something was lacking. It was almost as though she wasn't really there, that she was away somewhere, in a far off private fantasy, one to which he would never be admitted. After a while he began to wonder if he was really there, either. Towards the end, he found himself totally alone in his own exulta­tion. Love was a word without any validity in the situa­tion. Mariba was still on her knees, hands still tied. She had fallen forward, buttocks jutting and face pressed into the deep pile of the luxury class carpet.

  Phaid hit the ground and his legs buckled. He had been working so hard on reliving the night before that he had forgotten that the drop tube did have a bottom and that eventually he would hit it. He stumbled, almost fell and then righted himself.

  'Thank the Lords that's over.'

  Ben-e was waiting for him.

  'They-really-are-not-all-that-dangerous.'

  'That's what you say.'

  'You-are-safe-are-you-not?'

  Phaid nodded grudgingly and looked around. They were down on street level and the time had come to decide on the next move.

  'I guess the first thing we ought to do is to find ourselves a place to stay, a hotel or something.'

  'A-hotel-would-appear-to-be-the-obvious-solution. Please-don't-forget-however-that-you-gave-me-your-word-to-perform-a-certain-service-once-we-reached-the-city.'

  'I hadn't forgotten.'

  'I-would-like-it-to-be-discharged-as-soon-as-possible.'

  'As soon as that?'

  'You-require-me-for-some-new-tasks?'

  'No.'

  'So-why-delay-matters?'

  'I don't know.' Phaid suddenly grinned. 'I must have started to enjoy having you around.'

  'I-am-only-minimally-programmed-to-provide-companionship-for-humans.'

  'You don't do badly.'

  'That-is-surprising.'

  Phaid began to feel slightly embarrassed that he was drifting towards mawkishness. He quickly changed the subject.

  'How much cash do we have left?'

  'Two-thousand-three-hundred-and-seventy-at-Republic-standard.'

  'In that case, here's what I suggest. First of all, find me a place to stay. I'll dump my bag, freshen up a bit and then we'll take care of your business. How about that?'

  'That-would-be-quite-acceptable.'

  'You realise that you haven't told me what this service is that you want from me.'

  'I-am-aware-of-that.'

  Phaid looked suspiciously at the android.

  'You quite sure it isn't dangerous or illegal or nothing?'

  'You-can-rest-assured-that-I-require-nothing-from-you-but-a-little-of-your-time.'

  'But when are you going to fill me in on the details?'

  'After-we-have-found-you-a-hotel.'

  Phaid shrugged.

  'It looks like we're going to do it your way.'

  'That-would-be-best.'

  There were upwards of a dozen or more medium priced hotels in close proximity to the line terminal. They were all safe, anonymous and fairly comfortable. It was only a matter of picking one at random and paying a few days in advance. The one they selected rejoiced in the name Middlemass. The staff were android and the other guests all seemed to be faceless, rather two dimensional tran­sients. The place would suit until success provided some­thing more imposing or bad luck forced him into some­thing worse.

  Checking into the hotel reminded Phaid of a facet of Chrystianaville society that he had conveniently forgot­ten. The desk clerk's chrone pincers pushed a thick sheaf of official forms at him. Phaid sighed as he remembered how riddled the city was with pointless bureaucracy. He started to scribe in the answer to the literally hundreds of nonsensical questions. There were thousands of people spending every day in purposeless paper shuffling in the dozens of government departments. Above them were hundreds of inspectors and supervisors who checked on the paper shufflers and those who filled and filed the papers. Bribery and corruption was institutionalised and the sheer, non-productive mass of the system continually threatened to strangle the Republic's already rickety economy.

  In earlier times, this particular phase of form filling had been forced upon arriving travellers right at the line terminal. It had, however, caused such chaos and conges­tion that the marikhs had complained directly to the Palace and the burden had been transferred to the hotels, inns and guest houses. Phaid finished up the last form. To do his best to add to the confusion, he had used six different names. He slid the pile of paper back to the android.

  'What happens to this stuff?'

  'I-don't-know. It-is-a-purely-human-perversion. If-it-was-left-to-androids-we-would-eliminate-all-of-it.'

  Ben-e stayed in tweeted conversation with the desk clerk while Phaid went up to check out his room. The word adequate totally summed it up and, after stowing away his bag and splashing some water on his face, he didn't linger.

  The conversation between the two androids ceased abruptly as Phaid came out of the elevator and ba
ck into the lobby. The desk clerk returned to staring into space and Ben-e turned to face him in a businesslike manner.

  'Are-you-ready-to-go?'

  'I suppose so.'

  Although Phaid generally liked androids and was happy to have them around, there was something about the way they lapsed into their own world and their own language that tended to disturb him. He had a theory that it was probably this fact alone that caused many humans to develop serious prejudices against the machine people. It didn't, however, quite seem the right time to bring up the matter.

  Out on the street, the man and the android walked in silence for a while. The architecture of Chrystianaville had the effect of dwarfing human beings. It was almost as though it had been originally designed with a taller, more noble race in mind. When they had failed to show up and claim it, it had been reluctantly turned over to humanity who, depressed by the sheer, unworkable size of the place, had let it sink into dirt and decay.

  Even the area around the line terminal, which was one of the best maintained anywhere in the city, had cracked sidewalks, potholed streets and buildings that were scar­red by functional but unlovely patch jobs. Kinetic bill­boards and blocklong promotional holograms hid a multi­tude of sins and did lend the streets an atmosphere of tawdry colour. The first part of their walk took them past a huge, three-dimensional image of Life President Chrys­tiana-Nex assuring the citizens of the Republic that they had never had things so good.

  Phaid observed, however, that too many of the local citizens dressed and carried themselves in a way that gave lie to their president's recorded optimism. Clothes were shabby and faces pinched and bleak. There was hunger and resentment loose in the city. Phaid, in his smart new clothes and with an android by his side, found himself on the receiving end of a lot of hostile glances. The common people of Chrystianaville obviously took him for some sort of courtier or aristocrat. It was a situation that made him less than comfortable. At one point, a troupe of street dancers with decidedly political masks and costumes had surrounded him and Ben-e, mocking and jeering in silent dumbshow. There was a feeling in the air that the city was building to the point of explosion.