by D P Wright
THE SKIN LAB
Traffic was a screaming brawl in a thick fog of toxic fumes. Hundreds of machines roaring and snarling at one another, jostling for position before entering the Pipe. This huge plastisteel encased tube wound its way through most parts of Midtown, through the Rim and deep into the depths of Downtown. Travelling through it was, like most things in Dis, a constant battle with a citizen’s sanity. There was always a hint of panic as adrenaline and fear mixed with the staleness of the Midtown air and the thick poisonous soup being churned out by the chaos produced a heady, often violent, cocktail that clutched at your lungs.
Everything was at a standstill. The city’s arteries clogged with plagues of commuters. Kessler peered out of his junker with gritted teeth at the daily grind that played out around him. A jakker leaned out of his techbucket window and was snarling, his head, with its wires and implants, jittering violently. His mohican, a bright shock of pink and sickly yellow, stood out in sharp contrast to his blacked out optics and inked skin as he howled at the vehicle in front to do the impossible and move out of his way. An old woman sat in the back of a droshky with lips pursed and eyes narrowed as she did all she could to ignore the chaos around her. The driver, in the usual drab grey uniform of a droshky chauffeur, nodded slowly to himself in a daze of boredom, a nic stick hanging out from under his low brimmed hat. Up ahead, a baby cried from the arms of a pale, greasy girl, her deep red, bloodshot eyes seeming to pierce through the brown smog that seemed to be enveloping her vehicle. Towering above this snapshot of Dis life where two huge armoured wagons bearing the Council’s golden cog. This frenzied play was acted out time and again in the drab, relentless rain of Dis.
Kessler gripped the steering wheel tightly. He could see the Pipe’s entrance in the distance and he focused on it. It was not the usual turmoil of the Midtown streets that troubled the detective. He needed a reprieve from the pain of what he had done to himself. His body craved what was given to it the night before and Kessler was in no mood to deny it any longer. With that bit of business coming his way this morning he had some credits at last and with credits came the possibility of an escape. He knew how hopeless it would be trying to find anyone amidst the chaos of Downtown, especially about a murder that happened more than three weeks ago. They could be anywhere by now. The next couple of days would be spent hanging around looking busy. Easy credits. His console flashed red and the noise jabbed through his musings. Kessler took a hit of Ox and in a cracked voice he grunted, “What is it?”
“Hi, Kes,” Macy spoke quickly as if out of breath, “those men were here to see you again and left you a package. They got heavy.”
“Did you tell them what I told you to?”
“Yea the usual, that you’re out working a case and will com them when you get back. I don’t think they’re buying it anymore, though. They got rougher than usual and made a complete mess of my office. We need a new water filter now, by the way.” Her voice was reassuring in its familiarity, one of the few things that had stuck around for any length of time in Kessler’s life. He could tell she was angry.
“Well, don’t worry about them. I’ll sort it.” At this moment in time Kessler did not have the brain function or energy to dedicate any of his thinking capacity to this particular problem.
“I know.” She had heard that reply too many times and Kessler knew it but he said it anyway. “See you when you get back to the office.”
Kessler sighed, “Yea, catch you later.” He never knew why Macy Duzekus still hung around him. He could offer her only minimal pay and a leaky roof over her head in a low Midtown slum and he was convinced that she could easily get work in one of the higher districts where the pay was like the air. Better. Still, he was glad she was there. Kessler promised himself that he would get her a new water filter, once he closed this case, one of those new kits with the rad screening he had seen advertised on the glimmer boards. She would like that, he hoped.
The Pipe offered a reprieve from the chaos of the Midtown streets. Gone was the oppressive, violent noise and incessant rain and instead, a blanket of silence encased Kessler with only the low humming of the mag rails for company as he shot at speed down the transtube. Outside, the vehicle was surrounded by a cluster of colours that streaked across the dark, lighting up the junker’s canopy.
It would be easy to get hypnotised by the blues, reds and greens as they danced past and the quiet rhythmic whisper of the Pipe. The mobocracy of the city seemed far away as Kessler delved deeper into Dis. However, this serenity was short lived as the destination alarm lit up the canopy with a green glow, the light flickering every few seconds. “Destination: Downtown District 1.” A voice spoke from the vehicle’s console and it came to a halt as he entered the queue of traffic exiting the transtube.
The vehicle eventually began to lurch forward and the sight of the heavily guarded border loomed ahead. Two huge towers soared above Kessler, covered in the flags and banners of the thirteen Corporations who had a seat on the Council. All hung lifelessly in the stagnant air. Venters stood to attention in ranks alongside huge turret cannons. Angry corps officials, all sucking desperately on ventilators, looked uncomfortable in their suits as their junkies stood next to them holding aloft huge rain protectors in a vain attempt to keep them dry.
An alarm flashed red signalling his arrival in Downtown where the Council’s dampening fields prohibited non-licensed vehicles from flight mode and immediately locked them down to manual drive the moment they arrived. Another method used by the Council to ensure those citizens unfortunate enough to be stuck in Downtown stayed in Downtown.
Kessler peered through the exhaust fumes and, as the smoke cleared, he could see the chaotic, frantic throng of those trying to get above the Rim. Local merchants, their caravans brimming with their wares, desperate to get to the Midtown markets in time to stake their claim and thousands of migrants, a never-ending stream trying to get higher up the city, waving their permits or pleading with what meagre credits they had. Amidst the screams, cries and yells the sound of violence was never far. Two Venters were hard at work on some poor Dreg, standing over his prone body as they hammered down the butts of their rifles. Kessler could see what he assumed were his family, looking on in complete distress from their cramped junker. Amongst bags and boxes, a young girl with a pink ribbon in her hair wailed and clutched a screaming mother. Kessler wondered what crime he had committed.
“I.D. Citizen.” A metallic voice crackled through his ventilator as red eyes stared back at Kessler through the driver’s window. He tapped the plastiglass canopy with the nozzle of his assault rifle, “Quickly.”
Kessler reached into the inside pocket of his coat and produced his I.D. card, lowered the window and reached out to hand it over. The Venter scrutinized his details and had already begun walking to the next vehicle when he spoke, “Move along.”
Kessler’s junker rolled onto the worn carbonised iron of Downtown’s District 1. He quickly adjusted his optics to try and compensate for the lack of light. With power in scarce supply this far down light was at a premium even during designated daylight hours, as a result the dilapidated buildings, buckled roads and the burnt out vehicles appeared as distant shadows in the gloom. This was not helped by the oppressive rain which crashed down in an endless torrent but what made everything even more grim was the stench that clawed its way from the depths of the city through the drains and sewers. It made it difficult to breath the tainted, dense air. All this; the darkness, the air, the filth, the stench and the poisonous rain, gave Downtown a claustrophobic hysteria. However, as Kessler drove through the streets he did not notice the impoverished surroundings or the horrid fumes rising from below, at least not as much as he used to. He had other things on his mind.
Through his canopy, the detective could see the inhabitants of Downtown at work, Dregs, Mutes and those citizens unlucky enough to be stuck this far down, all scurried about in the murk. The darkness and lawlessness promoted a feverish black market which seeme
d to appear in every shadowed corner, fuelled by the exotic items from below that were difficult or impossible to procure in the city above. Nowhere else on Dis could high born Corps mingle with lower Dregs, would Venters allow Wasters and Mutes to freely sell their wares. Only here could chemheads pick up simpacks on the side without any heat and jakkers could hook up in illegal burn rooms free from Council eyes.
Kessler passed a sign that was lit with a flickering light ‘Boundary Town’, the lettering was faded and barely legible. He immediately turned down a side alley where a couple of ramshackle noodle bars spilled out onto the street, their vicious cocktail of spices adding to the Downtown stench. Steam spewed from vats of some unknown delicacy and the quick, guttural Downtown chatter could be heard above the clatter of pots and pans. This was mixed with the call of gaudily dressed whores, grubby, soaking bodies covered in a gross collage of muck and running make-up which was smeared across gaunt faces. They smiled at would be customers with a macabre, artificial grin, aided by whatever sim or krag was running through their veins.
The Skin Lab itself was just a door in the dark. Its buckled, thick metal was covered with graffiti; tags and names of local punks were scrawled alongside the names of anti-corporate groups and pro-Council gangs. Kessler knocked three times, the noise being lost in the humdrum of life and the clatter of the rain. There was a single fluorescent pale light that threw a dull glow over the doorway revealing the gruesome paraphernalia of the trade. Needles and used caps lay in piles at either side, as if someone had swept them to clear the path.
Waiting by the entrance, lit up in the low light, Kessler kicked away a rat that had crawled onto his boot. He drew up the collar on his coat and pulled down his hood further to ward off the deluge. Despite the ghastly surroundings, he felt a calm seep through his body. He welcomed it. For the first time today he felt more his usual self. His body knew what this place was all about and relaxed at thoughts of what was to come. He smiled, adrenalin filling him with relief and the thought that things just might be ok. A manic cackle pulled him back to reality and he realised that he had been staring at a Dreg huddled amongst the waste. He was lying in the foetal position, his face covered in obscene sores and welts. One eye was scabbed shut, the other grey and lifeless. He was violently shaking with laughter, his open mouth revealing blackened gums bereft of teeth. Thick gobs of spittle ran freely over his matted beard. The dead eye suddenly seemed to come alive as it returned his stare, “There is another way, you know,” he spluttered between coughs.
With a clunk, a panel opened revealing steel bars and two eyes which darted quickly from side to side. The heavy, battered, misshapen door that was the entrance to the lab scraped along the ground as a huge orderly in plastic gloves heaved it open with a grunt, his huge biceps appearing from under a blood-stained surgical gown.
Strip lighting, giving out a sickly yellow glow, buzzed loudly and every few minutes would violently flicker. The waiting room contained the usual tragic cases. Dregs from the lower city and chem heads looking for their daily fix. The skin labs catered for all these wretches, giving health, or its version of health, to the hopeless. However on this particular occasion something was different. The waiting room was barely half full. Usually there was standing room only and now Kessler could make out the grubby tiled floor.
The familiar face of Nurse Stacey Steckles nodded towards Kessler as she sucked on a nic stick from across the room behind a clear plastiglass barrier. He moved to join her. Stacey’s skin was pale and greasy and her dark purple hair had fallen below her soiled white nurse’s cap. Large purple lips sucked hard on the burnt-out stub. She cursed, throwing the butt on the floor, stood on the dying embers and looked up at the ceiling blowing dark smoke which seemed to hang still in the airless room. Her face was round and slightly chubby, not beautiful, but cute. The nurse’s hazel eyes seemed sunken into her skull.
“What do you want Kes, I’m busy.” She was nervous, eyes darting quickly around the room.
Kessler’s coat was still wrapped tightly around him as he dripped water on the floor. “Mind if we have a quick chat?”
An alarm briefly blurted out a high pitched groan and Stacey rolled her eyes as she bent her head towards the com. Her voice crackled across the waiting room, “Number three hundred and seventy four make your way to surgery two.” A balding, quite stocky man rose up with one hand dragging a large ox cylinder behind him and the other carrying a young girl of about six or seven. Her skin was a sickly yellow colour and every few seconds her body would strain, retch, then go limp. He was struggling to carry both the girl and the canister and stumbled more than once on his way past. His face was one of forlorn resignation. The man’s difficulties went unnoticed. In the toxic air of lower Dis the breathing disease was a common sight, people were so used to seeing it that it did not warrant them taking time away from their own worries. “This way, Kes.” Stacey had leaned across her desk towards him, her face just a few inches away from the barrier that separated them, her breath briefly misting up the plastiglass as she whispered, trying to be discrete.
Straightening her uniform, she stood up and, looking behind her, shouted, “Marge, cover me, I need to get something from the store.” Her eyes motioned to the left for the detective to follow.
Kessler knew exactly where to go and very quickly left the reception area trying not to run and let his childish excitement overcome him. Stacey was fumbling around outside the store room looking for her key card which lay somewhere in her deep pockets. Standing in the corridor, impatience threatening to overcome him, Kessler could hear the usual muffled screams and moans of the skin lab all wrapped up in the smell of cheap disinfectant. Today, however, there was the added acrid aroma of smoke.
The door opened into a narrow space packed with a jumble of medicines and chemicals. “So what is it this time Kes? You must be quick, I’m really busy.” She took out another nic stick and began fumbling around in her pockets for her lighter.
“Things to do? Usually you have the Dregs packed in solid but it’s like a mortuary in there, excuse the pun.” Kicking over a jar of some unsightly green liquid, Kessler tried to make space. He pulled down his sodden hood and sat on a ledge that was covered in paper bearing the familiar mark of Merryll Laboratories.
“Dregs and those unable to find the cred for Corporate Medicare are still coming in for their cheap fix but most of ‘em are now coming in dead. Do you know how much paperwork you have to fill to get rid of a body? Even this far down the Council are all over us. The logistics would blow your mind.” The nic stick was lit and the small space was quickly filling with smoke.
Kessler could not wait any longer, “Listen, I need some sim, to see me through the downtime. How much you have?”
“Only have three caps, wasn’t expecting a call from anybody today.”
“Fine. I’ll take them, usual rate?”
“Yea, plus the ten creds you owe me from last time.” She was perspiring and stared over Kessler’s shoulder at the door, as if she expected company at any moment.
“Yea that’s fine, I’ve come into a bit of luck recently and have the cred.” Again Stacey reached into her pockets but this time very delicately took out three tiny caps of clear liquid and handed them to Kessler. In a flash, she quickly grabbed the credits from him.
He took the vials and brought one up to the light, flicking it with a finger. “Clear eh? Looks good.” He brought the shot of sim up to his eye and, with a squeeze and a familiar hiss, delivered the precious payload into his body. He sighed happily as a wave of chemicals swept through him.
“Yea they’re the last of the clear. I only have brown left back at my place once that goes.”
The chem haze began to rise. His headache disappeared and his muscles relaxed. He could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest and the familiar metallic taste of the chem in the back of his mouth. His mind was clear now. His eyes twitched with energy, the dry rawness now a distant memory. He could now focus on the world a
round him and everything had a more defined, sharper edge.
“So what type of luck have you come into then? How much ya making?” One thing about Stacey Steckles, Kessler thought to himself with his eyes closed enjoying the hit, she had a nose for money and the means, or merchandise, to tempt it from anyone.
Kessler, focused on the warm wave taking hold of his body, spoke, ignoring Stacey’s question, “So where are all these bodies coming from?”
“We’re not sure exactly but we think it’s some new chem running the streets. They call it Lux. It’s something else, completely out there, brings you right to the edge.” She reached down into her blouse and pulled out a necklace, a piece of string with an ornate pendant showing a child kneeling and praying, wings folded down its back. She unscrewed its head and took a sniff of whatever lay within. Immediately her head jerked back and her lips pursed as the sting ran through her sinuses. She looked up at Kessler, her pupils now filling the whites of her eyes and her head swaying slightly from side to side.
“Sounds interesting.”
“Stay away from it,” her lips gripped the nic stick and sucked, “it’s no good. You should see how it leaves people… I’ve never seen anything like it… no good. The bodies have come in looking bad.” She spoke quickly.
“Bad?”
“Yea, bad. Even for down here. Emaciated, covered in red sores and their eyes,” her hand shook as it held the nick stick close to her mouth, “they’re always completely black. I hear that the pleasure is so great it burns you out quickly, doesn’t leave much behind.” She paused for a while lost in thought before eventually coming back to reality. “We’ve had to hire people in to handle the disposal of all the bodies.” Her hands were claws, tense, against the ecstasy.
So that was the smell Kessler had noticed in the corridor. “Damn, what’s in it?”